


Decades of Johnlock

by RosieFreebatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1990s, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 2000s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieFreebatch/pseuds/RosieFreebatch
Summary: Eight different first meetings of Sherlock and John, in eight different decades, with eight different alternate settings. These are standalone stories. If you're not into a specific alternate trope, you can skip, but I'd love it if you read all the stories!





	1. 1957 (Teenlock)

Greaser Sherlock and Jock John 

*This story is set in America since I have no idea what 50's culture was like in the UK.*

 

It was a typical Saturday night at Hudson's Drive-In. The parking lot was packed with teenagers. Rock music was blaring from the speakers attached to the top sides of the restaurant.

Molly Hooper rolled her eyes as she heard the catcalls and whistles from the greaser gang, The Hell Hounds, as she skated up to where they were parked to take their orders. "Okay you goons, cut it out. What do you want to eat?"

"Are you on the menu?" Jim Moriarty, a short, impish dark-haired boy asked with a smirk. His best friend, Sebastian Moran, snickered.

"No I'm not, because you can't afford me," Molly playfully retorted.

A series of "oohs" came from the rest of the group: Greg Lestrade, Victor Trevor, Phillip Anderson, and James "Bruiser" Sholto.

"Besides, you know I'm dating Mike. Now, what do you want to eat, that _isn't_ human?" Molly asked again with a swish of her ponytail.

"I want your bellybuster special," Bruiser said.

"Better watch out Molls, Bruiser here will eat all of your burgers and fries if you keep your pretty little eyes off of 'im!" Phillip shouted.

"Don't you worry, we got plenty for him here and all you goons," Molly replied with a grin.

While Molly took their orders, the Hell Hounds leader, Sherlock Holmes, pulled up in his black Plymouth Fury with hand-painted purple flames down the sides. His personalized plates read FREAK, a nickname that stuck thanks to Phillip's girlfriend Sally Donovan. He got out of the car, smoothing back his dark hair, one unruly curl laying against his pale forehead. In his black leather jacket, tight white T-shirt that showed the outline of his abs, and form-fitting black jeans, he was six feet of pure sex. Having jet black hair and a face perfect for Hollywood didn't hurt either. The girls swooned, but Sherlock was all about the guys. And no one dared gave him grief for it. Sherlock was known for telling like it is, especially if it involved deep, dark secrets.

"Well look who it is Hounds, our fearless leader. Where you been Sexy?" Greg asked with a wink.

"None of your business Grover," Sherlock retorted, but his lips were quirked up mischievously. He had a running gag where he always called Greg by any other name that began with G besides his own.

Victor snorted. "Probably had his head buried in his chemistry textbook. I don't know how you can stand that stuff, it makes my head hurt."

Sherlock removed a pack of smokes from his jacket pocket, tapping on the top. One slid out and he grabbed it with his long, graceful fingers. He pulled out his lighter from the other pocket and flicked it. "Chemistry comes easy to a brain like mine." He took a long drag, then exhaled, forming his full lips into a perfect O, white smoke curling out of his mouth.

"Yeah, well food sure doesn't. You better eat something tonight. I'm not dragging your skinny ass out of the parking lot if you faint, like you did last month," Victor shot back.

Sherlock narrowed his blue-green eyes at him, mouth ready for a nasty comeback, but the sound of a motorcycle engine revving interrupted all of that. He and the rest of the Hell Hounds turned to see a fire engine red Sunbeam slowly cruise into the parking lot, coming to a stop beside Sherlock's Fury. The boy getting off the bike was short, with close-cropped blond hair. He wore a red varsity jacket with black trim at the cuffs and hem. A black letter "F" patch was prominently displayed on the right chest side; the others recognized whoever this was attended Freeman High, the school in the blue collar section of town. His jeans were medium blue, and he wore black motorcycle boots. 

Sherlock was immediately taken with the mystery blond, the sight causing him to drop his cigarette. His face was distinctive, with a prominent wide nose, and his deep blue eyes that glittered like sapphires under the bright restaurant lights. He was muscular, definitely an athlete, Sherlock figured either a running back for football or a soccer player. The jeans were worn as were the boots, so his family didn't have a lot of money, perhaps his mother was divorced or widowed. His motorcycle was well-cared for though, and polished to perfection, so he probably scrimped and saved to buy it himself.

The blond smiled at winked at Sherlock. "Like what you see beautiful?" he purred. 

Sherlock turned almost as red as the blond's bike, and the rest of the gang snickered and giggled, waiting for Sherlock to regain his composure and start his brutal deductions. But that never came. The blond walked up to Sherlock and held out his hand. "John Watson."

Sherlock blinked, then grabbed John's hand, just holding it. "Sh-Sh-Sherlock Holmes," he stuttered. 

"Sherlock? That's interesting. Sounds like old money," John replied.

"That's 'cause it is," Victor spoke up. "But that's his middle name, well one of them. His first name is William."

More snickering and giggling followed. John just continued to smile. "William's a nice name too."

Sherlock looked down and realized he hadn't let go of John's hand. He dropped it quickly, and glared at his friends. "Victor, shouldn't you be going back to your pathetic pursuit of Irene Adler? I don't even know why you bother, boyfriends are not her area."

This time it was Victor's turn to turn red and have the rest of the group laugh at him. 

John laughed too. "So William, Sherlock, whatever you call yourself, wanna get something to eat?"

Sherlock wasn't planning to eat, but he nodded. This John Watson was the most interesting thing to come along in a while and he wanted to know if his silent deductions were right. 

*******

 John's eyes were wide with amazement. "I can't believe you got most of that! My being a soccer goalie, my interest in medical school, that my parents are divorced, I paid for my bike with my job delivering newspapers. Are you psychic?"

Sherlock smirked. "Not psychic John. I simply observe." Then he frowned. "What do you mean I got most of that?"

John chuckled. "Harry is my _sister_. Short for Harriet."

Sherlock huffed and pouted. "Sister! Why didn't I pick up on that? It's always something." 

Just then, a petite blond waitress with Mary on her name tag delivered their food; a chili dog, fries, and cherry cola for John, and a grilled cheese sandwich and chocolate shake for Sherlock. John tore into his meal with gusto, while Sherlock spent most of the time drinking his shake. Every now and then John would gaze up at Sherlock and smile, which set Sherlock's stomach fluttering like a butterfly. But was John gay like him, or just wanting a platonic friendship? Homosexuality wasn't technically illegal but definitely frowned upon. It was something Sherlock couldn't deduce. If this wasn't going to be a romance, it was fine with him. He could use another good friend.

"What're you thinking about?" John asked, peering into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock quickly looked down at his sandwich. "Nothing."

"Oh come on, it can't be nothing, not with that brain of yours," John gently scoffed.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I can't---you're not---you're not interested like that."

John reached out and placed his hand on Sherlock's sleeve. "Yes I am. I'm not gay but---"

"How can you be interested if you're not gay?" Sherlock whispered heatedly.

John shook his head. "Let me finish. "I'm not gay as in all the way. I like guys and girls. You mean you couldn't figure it out?"

" _Oh_ ," Sherlock said. He sat back and crossed his arms. "I would have figured it out eventually."

"Yeah, well it's something I don't advertise. My dad couldn't accept Harry being queer and kicked her out of the house. He threatened to do the same to me. So I stuck with dating girls. Mom eventually kicked _him_ out of the house and got a divorce. Things have been a lot quieter ever since."

Sherlock was glad that his parents were a lot more accepting, despite being annoying in other ways. Suddenly he was hungry and began eating his sandwich. It was cold, but still tasty. John couldn't help but laugh. "Were you that nervous that you couldn't eat?"

"I guess so," Sherlock admitted. Generally I don't eat a lot, it slows down my brain."

"Food is brain power Sherlock. Eat!" John playfully scolded.

Sherlock did, and soon there were nothing but crumbs on his wrapper. Satisfied, he leaned back and put his long legs up on the picnic table. John couldn't believe how graceful he looked doing it. "Jesus, do you know how sexy you are?"

Sherlock smirked. "No, and my name's not Jesus." 

"You ass," John teased, laughing. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Yes. I never wanted to come here in the first place, but the gang insisted." A slight blush crept onto Sherlock's face. "Would you like to come to my house? I mean, I have a lot of experiments I'm doing and I wondered if you'd be interested in helping me."

John grinned and licked his lips. "Experiments huh? Sure, I'd love to come."

The two cleared their trash and headed towards their rides. The rest of the Hell Hounds saw them and started snickering and making kissing noises. Sherlock glared at them. "Oh for God's sake, grow up." John just laughed, taking it all in stride.

John got on his bike. "Lead the way," he told Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, then got into his car and soon the two were speeding out of the drive-in. When they reached Sherlock's house, John let out a whistle. It was a huge, sprawling colonial with pillars, surrounded by trees. 

"Your place is gorgeous!" he exclaimed.

Sherlock smiled. It was a lovely home. "Yes, and there are a lot of neat hiding places. Care to explore?"

"Oh God yes," John replied. 

Sherlock moved closer to John, staring into his dark blue eyes. "Your eyes...at first I thought they were pure blue, but now I see some brown in them. Heterochromia," he murmured.

John swallowed loudly and nervously. "Yeah, my mom and sister have it too."

There was a bit of tension in the night air as the two stood inches apart, just gazing at each other. Who would make the first move? 

John decided for them both seconds later when he gently brushed his lips across Sherlock's. It was a chaste, brief kiss, but it was good enough for the both of them. Good enough for now. 

Sherlock smiled shyly and took John's hand in his. My room has a terrace you can walk out onto. It's perfect for stargazing. It's funny, I never cared anything for the stars, or the moon, any part of the solar system really."

"I love stargazing. Every time I look up into the sky, I dream about going up there one day, seeing and exploring the planets, wondering if there's other life out there." John smiled up at Sherlock. "For now though, I'd rather be on earth, with you." 

Sherlock grinned, putting an arm around John. This boring Saturday night definitely wasn't so boring anymore. 

 

 

 

 


	2. 1968 (Post-Unilock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free-spirited flower child John is in Brighton enjoying the summer and celebrating his graduation from university. Sherlock is there vacationing solo. Their first encounter is rough, but a mutual love of the beach makes things a little smoother.

Mod Sherlock and Hippie John

John is 27, Sherlock is 24. 

 

John was one of the first ones heading to the beach this morning. Saying goodbye to Harry and Clara as he left their small rented flat, he had his tote bag which contained his beach blanket, portable radio, a towel, sunglasses, suntan lotion, and wallet. He deeply inhaled the smell of sand and sunshine, silently proclaiming it to be two of the best smells in the world. 

He nabbed a prime spot close to the ocean and pulled his blanket out of his bag, carefully laying it on the golden sand.  He was dressed in a loose white T-shirt and denim cutoff shorts, and his blond hair, which he'd grown out, was shaggy and blew in the sea breeze. He wore a puka shell necklace, a gift from his mom. She'd gotten it in Hawaii last year during a vacation, and he hadn't taken it off since.

John turned on his radio, which was was playing A Day in the Life by the Beatles. He smiled and laid down on the blanket, putting on his sunglasses. The Sgt. Pepper album was one of his favorites. He closed his eyes and laid his head down on the blanket, letting the warm breeze and peaceful sounds of the ocean pull him into a state of peaceful contentment.

 

John opened his eyes, lifting up his head, just realizing he'd drifted off to sleep. He let out a sleepy yawn and sat up, stretching his arms. He glanced down at his arms and legs, which were slightly red. He pulled his suntan lotion out of his bag and opened up the cap, rubbing the soothing lotion onto his legs. Harry would definitely tease him for forgetting to put it on. 

The beach was pretty crowded; John surmised it was late morning or early afternoon. He was soon proved right when the radio DJ announced it was eleven-thirty. John ran a hand through his hair and laid back on his blanket. His stomach rumbled slightly and he knew he'd have to get some lunch soon.

He looked around, taking in the sights of happy families and couples enjoying the sunshine. A few kids were making sandcastles. Many were in the water, cooling themselves off. It wasn't blazing hot, but it was pretty warm.

John decided to take a dip in the sea. He took off his shirt and threw it in his tote bag along with his sunglasses. He headed for the shore, silently reminding himself to put suntan lotion on his chest and face after drying off from his swim. A big wave had crested, and the water coming in flowed over John's feet. He winced a little at the coolness of it, but kept going in until he was waist deep, then dived under, instantly getting refreshed by the cool saltwater.  John reveled in the fact he'd be here all summer to enjoy it, before going back to London in September and starting his job as a physician's assistant. His friend Mike Stamford, a fellow med school graduate, had secured employment for them both thanks to his uncle, who had a thriving practice in the city. The two were planning to move into a flat together. 

John dove under a wave, feeling the rush of the water engulf his body. He arose gracefully, arms stretched up to the sun. He shook his head to free the water from his ears, and began to make his way to the shore. A pretty redhead stared appreciatively at his retreating frame, and John smiled at her. 

He reached for his towel and dried himself off, then applied his suntan lotion to his chest, arms, and face. He put his shirt and sunglasses back on,  slipped on his flip-flops, and stuck his wallet in his shorts pocket. 

John was nearly to the pier when a yellow frisbee came flying out of nowhere, heading straight for his face. John quickly dodged to the right to avoid it, and in doing so nearly collided with another young man, almost knocking him down.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, I didn't see you---"

"Why don't you watch where you're going, idiot!"

John's mouth dropped open. It's not like he ran into him on purpose. A few years ago, he would have screamed at him and gave him what-for, but now he was about peace and love. He looked at him intensely and shook his head. "I didn't mean to hit you on purpose. Did you see that frisbee flying right towards me? I don't need a broken nose. You mods are so uptight. Loosen up and be free mate. You're at the beach. It's all about good vibes."

The younger man sneered. "I don't need to loosen up."

John laughed. "Hmm, I disagree. You look so uncomfortable and out of place in those schoolboy clothes. Shame, 'cause you're gorgeous. Anyway, can't stay and chat, there's some fish and chips up top with my name on it. Peace, mate."

He bounded up the steps, leaving the other man much annoyed---as well as intrigued.

*****

 After lunch, John had returned back to the flat to put on a fresh T-shirt and shorts and to grab a book before heading back to the beach. Harry and Clara had left a note letting John know they went to Cliff Beach and would be back by dinnertime. John wrote his own note explaining he'd be at the end of the pier reading, and left.

 

 

John was by himself, laying on his blanket under the pier, listening to the radio and reading Reflections in a Golden Eye by Carson McCullers. It was Harry's book and she gave it to John. The plot was pretty steamy, and John was intrigued by all the different emotions of the characters. He'd come out as bisexual only two years ago, so he could relate to one of the book's characters, a repressed gay man married to a woman. Him coming out brought he and Harry closer together.

John maneuvered onto his back and continued reading, only a few moments later to hear a deep baritone calling to him.  "Interesting choice of reading material."

Slightly, startled, John sat up, placing the book in his lap and looked to his right. There was the young mod he encountered earlier today, sitting in the sand. He was now wearing tan shorts and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. His dark hair blew slightly in the breeze, and his eyes were just like the color of the sea. John felt a slight fluttering in his heart.

"It was my sister's book. She gave it to me. Have you read it?"

The other boy nodded. "It's cheap, tawdry trash."

John chuckled. "Of course you'd think so. Let me guess, you're into Shakespeare."

"Only his tragedies. Hamlet is a literary masterpiece."

"Yeah, Hamlet's good, but I'm partial to Macbeth. It's a good story about how you shouldn't let power corrupt you. But my all time favorite is A Midsummer Night's Dream. It's all about love, and having fun, and doing what you want. That's what I'm about."

The dark-haired boy snorted. "Oh, I can see that."

John put his book down on the blanket. "You know, if we're going to continue this lovely conversation we should know each other's names. "I'm John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes."

John grinned. "Sherlock huh? Definitely suits you. You're the poshest bloke I've ever met."

"And I would have expected you to go by some silly hippie moniker, like River Song or Afternoon Breeze."

"Well, my mum does call me Sun."

Sherlock smiled. "It's because of your hair and your skin. You practically glow."

John smiled back. "Are you flirting with me Sherlock Holmes?"

"I might be John Watson." Then his face blanched. "Unless, I mean, you're not interested that way---"

John laughed heartily. "It's okay Sherlock. I go both ways on the street, if you know what I mean." He patted Sherlock's knee. "What a difference from just an hour ago. You were ready to tear me a new one."

"I eventually realized you nearly pushing my face into the sand wasn't entirely your fault."

John shook his head. "You're something else, you know that?"

"Yes, but usually people don't refer to me that way. Typically I get freak, or poof, or psychopath. They're all idiots. I'm a sociopath, a highly functioning one." Sherlock was smirking, but John wasn't fooled. He could see the hurt in his face.

"I don't think you're any of those things. You seem extremely intelligent. Are you still in school?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "I graduated two years ago from Cambridge with a chemistry degree. And yes, I'm extremely intelligent."

John snorted. "Well, you're certainly not humble. I just graduated from King's College. Medical school. I'm here celebrating finally realizing my dream to be a doctor. Are you on vacation too?"

Sherlock nodded. "A solo journey. I love London but when I need to get away, I come here to calm my mind. The beach has always done that for me. When I was a child, my family and I would go every summer to visit my grandparents in France and I'd escape to the beaches every day. I'd spend hours there, reading, or collecting shells and sea life to study."

"I hear you. I'm convinced the beach has medicinal benefits. Once you breathe in that clean salty air and your ears are filled with the sound of the waves...it's better than any medicine. I'm going to prescribe all my future patients sea holidays."

Sherlock laughed. "I think you're going to make a good doctor John."

John blushed. "Thank you. And you're going to make a great chemist."

"Consulting Detective," Sherlock corrected.

"Consulting Detective? That sounds made up," John mused, with a grin.

"It is. I made it up myself. I'll be the only one in the world. I already assist a friend of mine back in London with cases he and the Yard are unable to solve, which is all the time."

John's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Wow! You look pretty young to be doing that kind of work.

"I'm twenty-four."

 John's face lit up like a lightbulb. "Amazing!"

Sherlock blushed and turned away, obviously not used to such compliments. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he looked back to see John still smiling at him. "You really mean it?"

John nodded. "I do."

Before Sherlock realized what he was doing, he leaned in and gently brushed his lips on John's. Then he felt John kissing back, and he felt a big wave of relaxation wash over him. For the first time in quite a while, he felt things were going to be just fine.

Once the two ended their kiss, John gazed at Sherlock with affection. "I liked that."

Sherlock smiled shyly. "I did too. I'm usually not that forward. But there's something special about you John."

"You're special too." John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek, which earned him a sweet grin.

John stood up, holding out his hand to Sherlock. "Would you like to walk along the beach with me? And maybe later, I could introduce you to my sister and her girlfriend, go out for a bite to eat."

Sherlock placed his hand in John's and got up off the sand, using his free hand to brush his shorts off. "I'd like that very much."

The two walked hand in hand towards the shore, enjoying the feeling of the warm sand between their toes. Yes, things were definitely going to be just fine.

 

 

 

 


	3. 1976 (Casefic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While undercover at a disco trying to catch a serial attacker, Sherlock gets some unlikely assistance from a former army captain turned DJ.

Sherlock and John as we know and love them, just set in the seventies! Inspired by my love of disco music and 1970's crime shows, along with Martin Freeman being a DJ in real life when he's not acting or being Mr. Sassy Pants.

  
For this story, John was born in 1943, making him 33. Sherlock was born in 1946, making him 30.

 

 

It was a typical Friday night at Lestrade's, the popular disco in London's Soho district. Dancers were crowded on the floor, a mixture of gay, straight, bisexual, and everything in between, black, white, Asian, even some Middle Easterners. It was a rainbow of faces and bodies, all there to have a good time and boogie their hectic week away.

DJ John Watson, a.k.a. "The Captain," was cuing up the next record, Love Hangover by Diana Ross. It was a relatively new cut, but a beloved one in the city, and it quickly became one of John's favorites. It started out slow and sensual, backed by thumping drums and a funky bass, perfectly mixed in with Diana's breathy, sexy vocals.

_If there's a cure for this_

_I don't want it_

_I don't want it_

_If there's a remedy_

_I'll run from it_

_From it_

_Think about it all the time_

_Never let it out of mind_

_Cause I love you..._

 

John loved how the dancers would sway slowly and seductively to the beat, then once it grew faster, they were throwing up their arms, twisting their waists, moving their legs and feet all around, feeling the music. Watching them made him feel alive, and only last year, he nearly ended his life after being injured and invalidated from the Army while fighting in the Dhofar Rebellion. He'd been shot in the shoulder by enemy fire, and emergency surgery turned into a long hospitalization thanks to an infection, followed by painful physical therapy and John thinking he'd never be useful again. He'd returned to London, living in a shabby bedsit, ready to eat the end of his Sig Sauer, before a voice in the back of his tortured mind told him "not today." So he went for a walk and ended up in Regent's Park, and ran into Mike Stamford, an old friend from St. Bart's Hospital. After a tense chat, Mike asked him if he'd be interested in deejaying at a friend's wedding. 

John had been a DJ at the campus radio station during uni, and it was something that he became skilled at. Listeners liked his sarcastic sense of humor and love of rock and roll and blues music. He wasn't sure if he could just come back and pick it up again, especially with the advances in technology, but all he had to do was play records and make announcements. So he agreed, and made $100 for four hours work on a Saturday night. Soon he was getting requests to do other small gigs around town, and when Lestrade's opened, they were looking for a DJ. John applied, calling himself The Captain, and the owner, Greg Lestrade, took a liking to him and hired him. Now he was being paid decent money to spin the hottest disco songs every Friday and Saturday night, and John rapidly grew to love the fast-paced, frantic disco culture. His job got him out of his awful bedsit and into a tiny, but decent flat in Soho.

Inside his glass booth, which was built high so it could look down on the dance floor and give a nearly 360 view of the disco, John felt like a king surveying his people. The glass was also bulletproof, which John at first scoffed at, but given the current situation, he was thankful for. In the last several months, a mysterious and dangerous perpetrator had been following women leaving discos and other clubs alone late at night, attacking and beating them into unconsciousness. The press had dubbed the criminal "Discopath." Extra security had been hired at all the establishments, and peoples' bags were searched before they could be let in. So far, Lestrade's had not been targeted, but John figured it was a matter of time before the creep struck here.

Greg had told John he got a friend who called himself a consulting detective who would be undercover at the disco smoking Discopath out. This friend was apparently a brilliant genius, who could tell you your life story by how you comb your hair or a piece of jewelry you wear. "If anyone can catch this jerk, it's Sherlock Holmes," Greg had said.

John wasn't so sure. This Sherlock sounded hokey, if his name was anything to go by. But Greg swore by the man. "He's a genius John. He was able to tell me one of my bartenders, Sally, was having sex with Anderson, one of the janitors, in my office just by looking at the impressions on my carpet."

John still was unimpressed, but figured if it was cool with Greg, it was cool with him. Plus, Greg had hired two of John's Army mates, Bill Murray and James Sholto, as bouncers. Both had been unemployed and struggling to make it and jumped at the chance to get some steady work. Greg had promised to keep them on after Discopath was eventually captured.

John pulled another record, "Try Me I Know We Can Make It" by Donna Summer, from his huge music library, and placed it on his other turntable. "Love Hangover" was fading out, and John needed to take to the mic to introduce the next song.

"Yeah my hot dancers, I just gave you a love hangover courtesy of Miss Diana Ross. I know you're still wanting to boogie, and my next diva is up for you. Let's see if we can try Donna Summer and make it!"

He heard some cheers and whistles, and he grinned as he began the song. It was seventeen minutes long so it gave him some time to select a few more records.

*****

Sherlock rolled his eyes at hearing the DJ's puns, despite thinking he had a pleasant voice. He absolutely loathed disco music, and discotheques. The pulsing lights, loud thumping music, vocals that sounded like cats wailing and dogs barking, and people dancing like they were having seizures were a blight on his brain. But he'd promised Greg to be on the lookout for Discopath (an absolutely ridiculous term, the British media were such idiots). Sherlock knew the attacker would strike tonight, and Lestrade's was next, based on a complex pattern he'd mapped out while laying naked on the sofa in his flat (he did his best thinking while wearing nothing but his birthday suit). 

The attacker would alternate their evenings. It would be Friday, then a Saturday, and they'd started out with the clubs in the seedier sections of town, before making their way to the more upscale neighborhoods. 

Sherlock deduced the assailant was a middle-aged white male, in good physical condition. He was also extremely religious, and maybe a vicar, or involved with the church in some capacity. Clearly the beatings were to send a message to women visiting the discos alone, this person did not approve of them going out and partying, actually trying to beat them into submission. The attacker was married, with a submissive wife who he could easily dominate, so he felt all women should stay at home and be wives and mothers. His appearance would not attract attention, and no one would approach him if he were to be at a disco.

Sherlock's eyes landed on the glass DJ booth. He saw a short, blond man with a muscular build step out and go down the stairs. He was wearing tight blue bellbottom jeans, a black leather belt, and a red silk shirt, three buttons undone, that clung to his torso and showed the outline of his biceps. He could see something silver and glittery around his neck but it wasn't not one of those gaudy necklaces many of the male patrons sported. They were dog tags.

 _Oh_. Now things were getting more interesting. A former Army veteran turned DJ. Quite interesting. And he wasn't bad to look at either. 

Sherlock watched as the DJ rolled his shoulders. He'd suffered an injury to his left shoulder, he could see him working out the kinks. The detective began to get a little mesmerized by his ministrations and he needed to shake himself out of it. He had a criminal to catch and he couldn't do it while becoming attracted to the DJ.

He felt a hand clap his shoulder. "Hi Sherlock. How's the surveillance going?" Greg's friendly voice asked.

"Nothing yet. Can you tell me about the DJ over there?" Sherlock inquired.

Greg's eyebrows raised. "John? You can't possibly suspect him!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I don't."

Greg was puzzled. "Okay, so why do you want to know more about him...oh wait a minute!" Greg chuckled. "You think he's attractive. Makes sense. You always did have a thing for short blond blokes---"

Greg was silenced by Sherlock's icy glare. "Sorry," he apologized, putting his hands up. "What do you want to know?"

"How does a former Army veteran wind up being a DJ in a disco?" 

Greg let out a sigh. Of course you'd work it out he was military. Anyway, I digress."

He cleared his throat. "It's a long, somewhat sad story, but I'll give you the Cliff Notes version. He was a DJ at uni before graduating. He worked at your basic doctor's office, then went to St. Bart's A&E. He decided he wanted to enlist in the Army. He fought in the Dhofar Rebellion and was shot, honorably discharged last year. He couldn't go back to surgical work. He got back into deejaying and decided to make it a full time career. I hired him before Christmas. He's been a big hit with everyone here. He goes by "The Captain."

A funny, fizzy feeling came over Sherlock. "Army Captain. How exciting."

"You may have a chance with him Sherlock. He's bi and likes them tall, dark, and handsome. But can it wait until after this Discopath is put out of commission? The crowds are still decent, but not as full as I'd like, and people are really scared." 

Sherlock huffed. "I'm not going to ask him out George. You know how I need to observe everyone."

Greg grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I know. And it's Greg. Come on Sherlock, how long have we known each other?" He playfully smacked his shoulder. "I'll let you get back to observing. I really appreciate it, even though you don't like discos."

"This music is seriously threatening to pull apart my mind and shatter it into tiny little pieces. But if I had a funny little brain like yours, I'd probably be out there making a fool of myself."

"Oi!" Greg exclaimed. "At least those funny little brains are out there having fun. Something you should consider doing once in a while."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose up in distaste. "No thank you."

"Suit yourself Sherlock. But one day, you'll discover it's no fun being single and alone." Greg walked away from him. Sherlock pondered his words for a second before getting back to the task at hand.

*****

_Twelve minutes later_

John was at the bar getting a club soda with lime. He never drank while working, even though one of the perks of being the DJ at Lestrade's was free booze. As he thanked Sally and started to head back to the booth, he noticed a middle-aged fortyish white brown-haired man, sitting in the corner, back to the wall,  wearing a yellow sweater over top a white shirt with a wide collar, and tan trousers, a cold expression on his nondescript face. 

Something about the stranger raised John's hackles and set him on edge. He looked completely out of place among all the other patrons, and John was unnerved by his stony, blank glare. He wondered if this was the infamous Discopath terrorizing London. 

He started to think about the news reports on the attacks. Many of the women never got a good look as they were confronted from behind, but all the victims knew it was a man, and taller than them. The guy at the bar looked to be 6'1, and was in decent physical shape.

John decided to tell Greg. He could let James and Bill know to keep an eye on him, without confronting him directly.

He finished the rest of his drink and set the glass down on the floor. As he turned around, he saw a tall, extremely good-looking younger man with a halo of dark curls, wearing a dark purple dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, unbuttoned to reveal a creamy, lovely long neck. He had on black dress slacks, and black loafers, which looked very Italian and very expensive. 

"Uh, hello," John said sheepishly, still reeling a bit from the other man's beauty.

"You suspect that man in the yellow sweater at the bar of being Discopath, and you're right. He's been on my radar for the last ten minutes." He held out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

 _So this was Greg's genius friend. He never mentioned he was sex on two legs_ , John thought.  He recovered and took Sherlock's hand. "John Watson."

Suddenly he remembered he needed to get back into the booth to put his next record on. "Listen, stay here, I need to get the next song playing. I'll be right back."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll be here." He watched John leave, obviously not trying to stare at his pert behind.

John got his next cut ready and leaned into the mic. "All right, your Captain is back to keep you burning up with boogie fever! Speaking of boogie, let's all attend the Silver Convention! A double shot of disco with "Fly Robin Fly" and "Get up and Boogie! Let's get down, and that's an order! Your Captain has spoken!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John returned. "Hey, they like the puns, what can I say?" John said with a smile.

"Honestly, I don't know how you can stand listening to that terrible music week after week," Sherlock complained.

"Most of it's pretty catchy. I'm more of a Beatles and Motown fan myself, but there's a lot of soul in some of these songs. The production values are impeccable," John replied. 

Sherlock secretly and begrudgingly had to agree. Some of the songs he felt weren't so cringeworthy were accompanied by violins and he had to admit the sounds were nicely played. The song on now had a decent violin solo.

"I'll give you that," he finally said.

John laughed, and the fizzy feeling in Sherlock's body reappeared. His laugh was like honey being warmed by the sun.

Then he remembered Discopath, and sharply looked towards the bar. He was still there, glaring at the dancers. "John, we need to get Greg. I have a feeling Discopath is going to make his move very soon."

John glanced in Sherlock's direction. The man seemed to have his focus on a young redheaded woman wearing a powder blue strapless silk dress and glittery gold heels, swaying seductively close to the bar.

"Sherlock, I think he's found his next victim. Redhead dancing by herself," John pointed out.

"I see her. I'll get Greg so he can notify the police."

John nodded. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on things."

Sherlock left, weaving his way through the crowd. John tried---and failed---to not ogle Sherlock's shapely behind under those tight-fitting pants. He was definitely a looker, but John knew he'd never have a chance. What would someone that good-looking and posh want with a scarred Army vet with PTSD and working at a place he obviously didn't care for? No, he'd help him on his case, and that would be the end.

A tense few minutes passed before Sherlock made his way back to John. "The police are on their way. Greg is going to use a ruse of getting the man outside telling him one of the patrons spotted a thief trying to break into his car."

"Sounds good, but how do we know what kind of car he's driving?" John wondered.

"We don't. The plan is to make the arrest as soon as he's outside."

"Well for your sake, I hope he is Discopath, or we've got a major lawsuit on our hands."

Sherlock smirked. "Believe me, he is. I'm never wrong about these things."

John snorted? "Yeah? Greg told me you can deduce a person's life story just by observing what they wear or their hairstyle."

"I can."

"Well then, do me," John replied with a grin.

Sherlock definitely wanted "to do" John, but not in the way the shorter man thought. "Greg already told me some of the details."

John's face fell. "Oh, well then never mind--"

"He didn't tell me about your family history of alcoholism," Sherlock cut in, pointedly looking at John.

John's dark blue eyes blew wide open. "Holy shit. You got all of that just by looking at me?"

Sherlock shook his head. "By observing you John. I saw you at the bar earlier. The bartender gave you a sparkling drink with lime, most likely club soda. You have access to alcohol while working but don't drink. Part of that is because you are working, but you could still drink at anytime and no one would care. So you must have a reason for turning alcohol down, and the easiest conclusion is a family member struggled with the disease. A parent, or a sibling."

"Christ, that was brilliant," John breathed. "I have an older sister Harry, short for Harriet, that's been on and off the wagon ever since she was seventeen. My father was also an alcoholic, and he drank himself to death. My sister unfortunately seems to be following in his footsteps. I vowed not to continue the family tradition. I like a pint every now and then, but you're right, not when I'm working. I catch flak for it, Sally and the other bartenders call me a goody-goody, but I don't care."

"It's not easy being an addict. I used to do cocaine. I've been clean for five years," Sherlock admitted.

"Wow, I can't believe it," John murmured.

"Cocaine helped quiet my mind, it me sharper and more focused. But it also led me to getting high in boltholes, and doing handjobs and blowjobs for it. After Greg and my brother found me near death in an alley, they told me I either go to rehab or my hopes of being a consulting detective were down the drain. I chose rehab."

Before John could reply, he saw Greg approach the man at the bar. John and Sherlock watched intensely as the man got up, still the same stony expression on his face, follow Greg out to the disco's exit.

"Come on," Sherlock said quietly but urgently to John, motioning him to follow.

The two stealthily made their way to the exit. Out in the parking lot, they saw Greg, along with several police officers. The suspect maintained his cool glare. Then a young brunette woman walked by, in a gold lame jumpsuit, heading towards the disco. She eyed the scene warily.

All of a sudden, the man charged towards her, screaming and ranting about how she should be at home and not whoring around town, threatening to bash her brains in, shouting that it was as God commanded. The police immediately jumped him, bringing him to the ground. One produced a pair of cuffs and slapped them on him. "That's enough!" he yelled at the suspect. "You're going to the Yard for a nice little chat!"

John and Sherlock watched everything go down. John shook his head, feeling a little sad for the man who was obviously disturbed. 

"He'll obviously plead not guilty by reason of insanity," Sherlock stated.

"Do you think he's crazy?" John asked.

"That's not for me to decide," Sherlock answered solemnly.

"I guess we'll see how it all plays out. But at least he's off the streets for now," John surmised. 

Suddenly he smacked his forehead. "Oh shit, I need to get back to the booth, that last song is probably done and everyone sure's to wonder what's going on!"

John began to rush for the employee entrance in the back, but saw Bill and James approaching. "Hey John, don't worry, I just made an announcement that you had to take a short break and you'd be back playing music soon," Bill told him.

John heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks Bill, you're a life saver. Can't stop the dancing!" He motioned to Sherlock. "Come on Sherlock, let's get back inside."

Sherlock shook his head. "I think it's time for me to head home. The suspect's been arrested, my job here is done." But he saw John's face fall. Was he really that disappointed that Sherlock wanted to leave? He had to find out.

"John?"

"Yeah?" His voice was hopeful.

"Maybe I can stay a little while longer."

John grinned madly and held out his hand. Sherlock took it. It was warm and comforting.

"I'll buy you a drink for a job well done. What's your poison?" John asked.

"Your best dry red wine," Sherlock said, returning the grin.

"You got it." John looked down at his shoes, then back at Sherlock. "Look, I know this may be forward, but I'm off tomorrow night. I was supposed to work but BBC's doing a live remote, and I was wondering if you'd like---"

"I'd love to. I know a great Italian place on Baker Street. The owner is a friend of mine. I got him off on a murder charge and he gives me free meals," Sherlock interrupted, with a smile.

John laughed. "You're amazing you know that? What time?"

"How about seven? You can come to my place and pick me up. It's 221 B Baker Street."

"It's a date Sherlock Holmes."

"Looking forward to it John Watson."

The two went back inside the disco, Sherlock still holding John's hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned (check them out on YouTube if you feel like dancing):
> 
> Love Hangover - Diana Ross  
> Try Me, I Know We Can Make It - Donna Summer  
> Fly Robin Fly, Get Up and Boogie - Silver Convention
> 
> Discopath is the name of a French horror film from the 2000's about a man who goes on a murderous rage after he hears disco music.


	4. 1984 (Book Shop/Author AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes his younger siblings to a book signing by their favorite author, whom he has a crush on.

Book Shop AU with Author John. Sherlock is still a consulting detective.   
Sherlock is 28, John is 32 (and has a beard). 

 

The line was beginning to build outside Stamford's Books and Comics on Baker Street. It was a sunny, mild spring evening and Sherlock was with his younger siblings, fifteen year-old twins Sherrinford and Eurus. They were turning sixteen tomorrow and as a joint present, Sherlock had gotten tickets to a meet and greet with their favorite author, horror writer John Watson. Sherrinford and Eurus were big fans. They loved how he used his past skills as a doctor to accurately portray the protagonists of his works, characters who worked in the health care field. The twins were big on medical terminology. Sherrinford wanted to study pathology after he graduated school, and Eurus wanted to be a psychiatrist. 

Sherlock at first had dismissed the books, he wasn't a horror fan and thought the genre was "useless, tasteless trash", his own words. He'd nearly gotten into a physical altercation with a member of the Yard after he ruthlessly mocked him for being a Stephen King fan. But he ended up eating crow after reading the latest John Watson novel, _Hellfire._ Sherlock couldn't put it down, and his younger siblings had teased him mercilessly ever since. Sherlock eventually read the rest of his novels, and they were just as good.

The twins also teased him because it seemed Sherlock had developed a crush on John after seeing his picture on the back of the book. 

Sherlock always liked short blonds, and the beard just made him look more intellectual. It also didn't hurt John used to be in the military. But he wasn't at the book signing just for himself, although he did have in hand his own copy of _Hellfire_. 

Sherlock's eyes gravitated to the main display window of the shop. A banner indicating tonight's event was hanging prominently in the center over a blown-up poster of the same photo of John on the back of the book. Copies of _Hellfire_ , along with his other titles, _The Woman_ , _The Sign of Three,_ and _Scarlet Fever_ , were neatly stacked and arranged around the poster.

"It's six o'clock! They should be opening the doors soon," Sherrinford excitedly said.

"I can't wait to meet him. This is the best birthday ever, and it's all thanks to Sher," Eurus said happily.

Sherlock smiled. He was glad and grateful his siblings wanted to celebrate their birthday like this, instead of having a blowout party. Tomorrow night, the siblings and a few close friends from school would be going to a horror movie marathon at the Magnussen Theater. Sherlock had arranged for his friend Angelo to make pizzas and Sherlock would pick them up and deliver them to the house before everyone left for the movies. Sherlock had long since moved out of the Holmes estate, renting a cozy flat above Speedy's Restaurant on Baker Street, but he frequently visited his family.

The doors to the shop opened and there were loud cheers and clapping. There were two store employees at the front to make sure everyone would enter peacefully. Mike Stamford, a chubby, pleasant looking fellow wearing glasses and sporting a receding hairline, appeared.

"Good evening, and thank you for waiting so patiently! At this time, I ask you please enter the shop in an orderly fashion and proceed to the back. We have chairs set up and I would like everyone to take a seat for the question-and-answer section."

One of the employees unhooked the latch and one by one everyone started going inside the shop. Sherlock was actually a bit nervous, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he followed Sherrinford and Eurus.

Mike's shop was housed in an old disco, so it was very large and could accommodate different events such as this meet and greet. His shop was known for its extensive collection of sci fi and horror titles from the 1960's to the present, as well as comic books. It was a literary geek's dream come true, and Mike was reaping the financial rewards.

Sherlock took a look at the crowd and rolled his eyes. The fashion of this decade was simply a major eyesore. Mohawks, hair teased high to the sky, satin baseball jackets, neon colors that could invoke a migraine, T-shirts with idiotic sayings that said "FUN" and "BOY TOY", and one girl was a nightmare in a red strapless corset dress, fishnet stockings, combat boots, and her hair was shaved on one side, the other left long. "She's dressed like Cyndi Lauper," Eurus whispered to him, but he had no idea who his sister was talking about.

Sherlock was impeccably dressed in a black suit with a grey silk button down, his ebony curls expertly tamed thanks to a quick touchup by his personal hairdresser, William Wiggins.  Sherrinford was in a white Lacoste short-sleeved polo shirt and jeans, his red hair cut neat and short. Eurus was in a denim skirt and pale yellow blouse, matching ruffled socks, and black ballet flats. She wore her long red hair in a simple ponytail.

The teens found seats in the front row. Sherlock frowned, he would rather be in the back but he knew the two wanted to be as close up as possible, so he said nothing and sat next to Eurus. He crossed his legs and held onto his book. 

Once everyone was seated, Mike went to the podium at the front. A chair that looked like it came straight from a doctor's office was seated off to the right. Mike removed the microphone attached to the podium and turned it on. "Good evening everyone," he greeted. "Welcome to our meet and greet with acclaimed horror author John Watson!"

More cheers and applause, and then Mike smiled, holding up his hand. "Thank you. I'm sure Mr. Watson will appreciate your enthusiastic response. Before he comes out, I do want to announce that the question and answer session will last one hour. Then we'll have a brief break where everyone will retreat to the reception area for drinks and cocktails, before heading to our main reading room for the autograph session.  If you have a question for Mr. Watson, quietly raise your hand. Due to time constraints, we are allowing just one question per person. Thank you for your cooperation."

An attractive middle-aged black woman wearing white slacks and a navy long-sleeved blouse appeared from the left side and stood next to Mike. He gave her the mic. "Thank you Mike. Hello everybody. I'm Ella Thompson, John Watson's agent and longtime friend. I've known this wonderful gentleman for eight years, and I'm thrilled at the success he is having. If anyone deserves this, it's him, and I'm so appreciative and delighted that all of you are here tonight for him. So without further adieu, please stand and give a hearty welcome to John Watson!"

Everyone got on their feet and started clapping wildly. Sherlock rolled his eyes but went along with it. 

He stopped rolling his eyes when John came out.

John was dressed in a burgundy button-down long-sleeved shirt, tucked into a neatly pressed pair of khaki trousers. His hair was the same as in his book photo, but his beard now had more of a reddish tone to it. Sherlock could see muscle underneath the shirt, which fit his compact torso in all the right places. John's face was positively radiant, and he had a big cheerful grin on his face. Sherlock was enraptured with the creases under his eyes, it gave him character. The detective could feel a comfortable warmth building up in his chest.

"Hello!" John said. "It's so amazing to see so many of you here for little old me!"

Several audience members laughed, Sherlock one of them. He liked the sound of John's voice. It was like warm sunshine mixed with the finest of honey. _He really needs to put his books on tape_ , Sherlock thought.

 "Thank you so much for coming tonight, and I want to thank Mike for his support and friendship. We were roommates at St. Bart's."

There were surprised murmurs among the crowed and Mike beamed at his old friend. Sherlock could have told everyone the two men knew each other. 

"I'm sure many of you are wondering why I chose to write horror of all things," John said. "Well, it's simple. Being in military combat, it's easy to take the horrors you see in war and translate that to horrors of a different kind."

There were more murmurs among the crowd. Sherlock noticed John reach up and touch his left shoulder. _He got injured there, a gunshot. That's why he was discharged from the Army._

John went on to talk about being a former Army captain who'd turned to writing after being invalidated out of the 5th Infantry Brigade during the Falklands War conflict in 1982. The audience was hanging on his every word. Sherlock looked at this twin siblings. They were leaning forward, eyes wide, clutching their novels tightly. Sherlock had to admit John was a great storyteller. It was like he was right there on the front lines.

"When I was in hospital recovering, there was a small library where we could go and read, have some quiet time to ourselves. There were a lot of horror novels on the shelves and I gravitated to them. After reading them, I decided to try my hand at writing horror stories. I dabbled in writing during my teenage years. The doctors gave me a typewriter and paper. It was slow-going due to my shoulder injury, but it turned out to be good physical therapy, as well as emotional and mental therapy.  My first novel, _The Woman_ , was written while I was in recovery. When I first enlisted in the Army and was doing basic training, there was a nurse on base who nearly all of the recruits were gaga over. These guys kept going on and on about how beautiful she was. One day, I came down with a pretty nasty sinus infection. I was sent to see the nurse. Well, I took one look at her and got really freaked out. She was gorgeous, but there was something about her eyes. To me, it looked like there was no soul, no feeling in them. She spoke in a very sultry, almost seductive voice, and her lips were blood red. After my visit with her, my bunkmates asked what I thought of her, and I told them she was weird, and I actually got scared while being alone with her. I actually called her a succubus."

He stopped to take a breath, and some audience members laughed. Sherlock chuckled softly. 

"Anyway," John continued, "my mates told me I was crazy for not finding her attractive and that I had an overactive imagination. Well, my imagination worked for me, because the image of the nurse became my inspiration for _The Woman_. I assume you all have read it? During my talk I'll be discussing some plot points and I want to make sure I don't spoil anything."

"I'm sure everyone here has read all your books, am I right?" Mike spoke up.

There were replies of "Yes!" and "Definitely" from nearly everyone. Sherlock nodded quietly. 

John grinned again. "Great! As I was saying, that creepy nurse, with her long dark hair, soul-less blue eyes, and blood red lips, became the succubus who keeps killing off the patients in my novel and enthralling the hospital staff. The main protagonist, Dr. Hamish Martin, is actually based off me, because like me, he's the only one that at first knows there's something not right about the new night nurse and he doesn't succumb to the demon. Hamish, unfortunately, is my middle name."

Laughter rang out in the room, and Sherlock smiled. He hated his first name, preferring to go by his first middle name. It was a lot more interesting than William. Sherlock silently mouthed John's full name. He liked it. John Hamish Watson was a good, strong author name, as well as a good doctor name.

"I wrote The Woman in under a month. One of the doctors read it and really liked it. He was overjoyed to see a doctor was the good guy in my story."

John laughed, and a lot of the people in room laughed with him. "He told me he had a friend who worked in a small publishing house in London and asked if I wanted to submit it. I agreed, thinking it wasn't going to go anywhere. Well, the publishing firm called me right after I left the hospital and told me they wanted to publish my story. I couldn't believe it. In the fall of 1982, _The Woman_ was a bonafide novel, and starting to sell copies.  I was asked to sign a contract which I did, and I began work on ideas for my next novel, which would ultimately be _The Sign of Three._   That was published in summer 1983. I was busy working on _Scarlet Fever,_ published winter 1983, and _Hellfire_ , which came out last month."

Mike handed John a cup of water, and he took a big drink before continuing. "Before we begin the Q&A, I want to make an announcement and you're the first ones to hear it publicly."

The air in the room seemed to evaporate as the group waited anxiously to hear the author's news.

"I'm already working on my next book---"

Loud and wild applause along with some hoots and hollers punctured the room. Sherrinford and Eurus were among the revelers. Sherlock just watched John's lovely face as he reacted, and couldn't help but smile.

John laughed and waited for everything to die down. "Thank you. I never get that reaction at home, but I digress. Anyway, this new book is going to be a sequel to _Hellfire_ and it's going to be called _Hellhound_. The scientists from the first book will feature more prominently, and well, I hope you like the idea of a genetically engineered killer dog terrorizing the London countryside."

"Cool!" Sherrinford shouted. Eurus looked at him and giggled, and Sherlock just rolled his eyes. His two siblings were so unlike him when he was their age.

John chuckled. "I'm glad you think so young man." He turned to Mike and Ella. "Ready for the Q&A?" 

Mike nodded and stood up. "Yeah John, we'll just keep it rolling along."

"Right then. I'm sure you all have questions, so raise your hands and I'll call on you as I see you."

Hands upon hands rose in the air. John pointed to a twenty-something brown-haired man wearing a Sex Pistols shirt. "Young man, I'll start with you. What's your name?"

"Henry Knight. I have a question about the villains in _Hellfire_. Were they based on people you knew or encountered during your military service, like the nurse that inspired _The Woman_?"

John nodded. "Yes they were. James Moriarty, the genetically engineered pyrokinetic, was based on a recruit that was kicked out of basic training for setting fires around the base. We're not sure how he managed to pass the psychological tests, but he was a very intelligent guy, and also very scary. Sebastian Moran, the psychotic super-soldier, is based on the former guy's best friend. Those two were as thick as thieves, and the friend was huge and muscular. We called him The Incredible Hulk behind his back. Thanks Henry. Okay, who's next?" John pointed to a pretty, brown-haired woman around his age sitting in the second row. "What's your name?"

"Sarah Sawyer. Wow, you're even more gorgeous in person."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the remark, a sudden and unexpected streak of jealousy shooting through him. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn't help it. He found John gorgeous too.

John laughed nervously. "Thank you. What's your question?"

"Why did you allow the female vampire to escape at the end of _The Sign of Three_ after she nearly killed Harrison's best friend? I couldn't stand her and wanted her to die a painful death!"

John grinned like a loon. "Ah yeah, I definitely got some passionate fan mail about that. Well, even though she was a cold-blooded bloodsucker, Miranda Morstan was really and truly in love with Harrison, and he had feelings for her too despite everything she'd done. But remember, Benedict was ready to drive the stake through her heart but decided he couldn't go through with it, because he cared about Harrison too much and felt it would destroy their friendship. Harrison was the one good thing in his life and he didn't want to mess it up. Now, I'm going to reveal something---I was planning an epilogue where Benedict's brother Mark had tracked Miranda to Ireland and killed her, setting her on fire and throwing her charred corpse into the sea. But I felt ending it with Harrison visiting Benedict in the hospital and telling him nothing or no one was ever going to tear them apart again was a good place to leave it."

Sherlock sat there mulling John's words. There was something he wasn't saying, something he was keeping back. But what could it be? _A-ha!_ he exclaimed silently. _It all makes sense. Now if only there was some way for me to get to him all alone after this tedious Q &A session is over... _

Sherlock was deep into his mind palace, he didn't realize the hour was over and people were getting up and leaving. Sherrinford saw his brother lost in his big brain and tried to snap him out of it, but Eurus shook her head at her brother. "Let him sit here. Once he's closed up his mind palace he'll realize where everyone else is at."

Sherrinford reluctantly followed Eurus out of the room. John was off to the side talking with Mike and Ella when he spotted Sherlock. Throughout the Q&A he couldn't help but notice the handsome man and his cheekbones that look like they were sculpted from DaVinci himself. John had caught him looking intensely at him with what he thought were the most ethereal eyes he'd ever seen. 

Mike saw John peering at Sherlock. "That's Sherlock Holmes. He comes in to St. Bart's quite a bit, gets body parts from Molly so he can experiment on them. He's a genius. He consults with the Yard on cases. Certified genius he is."

John was intrigued. "Really? Well if he's such a genius, why is he still sitting there when everyone else is gone?"

Mike chuckled. "It's a thing he does. He zones out when he's thinking. Calls it 'going to his mind palace.'"

John continued to gaze at him. "Interesting." He definitely had to find a way to meet him in person and by himself.

******

John's hand was beginning to cramp big time. He signed lots of books, had pleasant chat with fans, and he appreciated the praise and support. But the one person he was waiting on wasn't in line, and he felt a little disappointed. He shrugged it off and carried on, as he got down to the last two in line. They were teenagers, twins, by the looks of them, with red hair and piercing green eyes, eyes that looked very familiar. Then he remembered them sitting in the front row during the Q&A session, next to the older man with the curls and cheekbones.

"Hi Mr. Watson, I'm so psyched to meet you in person," the male teen said, holding out his copy of _Hellfire_.

"Thank you. I think you may be my youngest fans yet. Most people I've talked to won't allow their kids to read my books."

"Mummy and Daddy let us read anything we want. They say when it comes to books we shouldn't be limited to subject matter," the girl spoke up.

John's mouth quirked up at that comment, memories of his father pushing _Playboy_ in his face and telling him if he wanted to be "a real man," he needed to read these magazines. Despite the naughty pictures, the articles in them were very well-written, and helped to inspire his love of written words.

"Your parents sound very accepting. I wish mine had been," John told them. He held up his pen. "What do you want me to write?"

"My name's Sherrinford but you can just write "For Sherry."

"And I'm Eurus. E-u-r-u-s."

"Ah, the east wind. Your parents have interesting taste in names," John remarked as he signed their books.

"We have an older brother. His first name is William but he goes by Sherlock, one of his two middle names. He would be here with us but he has a major crush on you so he chickened out," Eurus explained matter-of-factly.

John did a double take, eyes wide and jaw dropped. "Sherlock? He's your brother? With the curly dark hair and cheekbones?"

Sherrinford giggled and grinned at John. "Yeah. He's outside smoking. Would you like to meet him? Eurus and I will introduce you."

John wanted that very much, but if Sherlock was avoiding him, maybe it would be best if he left things as they were. 

"Come on and meet him Mr. Watson, it will be okay. He's just afraid of annoying you. He likes to deduce people and sometimes, okay, all of the time, it doesn't go well," Sherrinford explained.

"Well, if you're absolutely sure---"

"We're sure. Please? It's our birthday tomorrow and having you talk to our brother would be one of the best presents ever," Eurus pleaded.

John couldn't help but smile at the young girl. "Okay. I can't refuse a birthday wish like that." He stood up and smoothed down his clothes. "Lead the way to your brother."

*****

Sherlock was leaning against the side of the bookstore wall. He'd watched everyone leave the store, and was waiting for his siblings. No doubt they were talking John's ear off, rambling on about how much they loved his books...and probably telling John about how much he loved his books, and that he thought John was attractive...

Sherlock took a long drag of his cigarette and inhaled deeply, the nicotine instantly calming him. He was not going to go into a full blown panic attack, and besides, it's not like he was going to come face to face with John anyway now that he changed his mind about trying to get John alone after the book signing.

"Well hello there. I hear you're a big fan of my books," a familiar voice rang out in the night air.

Sherlock dropped his cigarette, looking right at John Watson. Behind him were Sherrinford and Eurus, with big shit-eating grins on their faces. _Those little conniving brats_ , Sherlock thought. He was impressed at their moxie. 

"Uh, well, yes, considering it's horror."

The twins looked at each other and shook their heads. Trust Sherlock to screw things up!

John laughed. "Yeah, horror gets a bad rap, but you can't say much of it is boring. And from what I've heard, you don't like boring." He winked at Sherlock, who was for lack of a better term, dumbstruck.

Eurus and Sherrinford approached their brother. "We're going to get some fish and chips across the street. Want some Sher? You can bring John," Sherrinford said coyly.

"That sounds great, I'm starving. What do you say _Sher?_ I'll treat," John replied.

Sherlock was rapidly trying to process everything that was happening. His crush was offering to buy him dinner. It was almost a date. No scratch that, it was a date!

"Sherlock? You okay?" John asked, worry on his face.

"I've got a date with John Watson!" Sherlock exclaimed.

Eurus and Sherrinford broke out into giggles. John smiled and gently took Sherlock's hand. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Sherlock looked at John and it wasn't long before his brain was charged up again. "Benedict Carlton and Harrison Freeman in _The Sign of Three,_ you wanted them to be more than friends, but your publisher wouldn't allow it. They were afraid of backlash by homophobes. And you're bisexual."

John was nonplussed. "So that's the deduction thing your brother and sister warned me about. You're absolutely right. Why don't we talk more about it over fish and chips?"

A small smile appeared on Sherlock's lips. "And with wine and dessert at Angelo's after?"

John chuckled. "Why not? You know, I'm thinking I'd like to model a character in _Hellhound_ after you. A young, brilliant, extremely handsome lab assistant. William Holmes. How does that sound?"

Sherlock glared at his siblings, who no doubt told John his first name, but the two just stood there grinning madly. But then his face softened. "I think that sounds wonderful. Why don't we talk more about it over fish chips?"

John just laughed and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Come on you, let's get out of here."

The two men walked into the mild spring night, holding hands and exchanging laughs and smiles, with Eurus and Sherrinford tagging behind them. It was definitely going to be the best birthday ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I most definitely had one of those tops that said "FUN" on it back in the 80's. It was hot pink with bright yellow letters.


	5. 1999 (School AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's a general science teacher, Sherlock teaches chemistry. A nighttime class outing is the perfect setting for these two idiots to make their own chemical reaction.

This AU is pretty much an excuse to post these pictures:

It would be hard to concentrate if I had teachers who looked like this.

\---

 

Hiddleston High School was nestled in the London suburbs and not too far from the countryside. It was here that John Watson, who taught general science to Year 9's, was organizing a nighttime stargazing session on campust next Friday as part of his astronomy lessons. The students were enjoying learning about the solar system and everything within it. John had even shown the kids clips from science fiction shows and movies like Doctor Who, Star Wars, and Star Trek where they would discuss the differences of how it would actually be like experiencing different atmospheres of planets. He had them make sundials and they went outside to test them. They plotted star charts and studied the phases of the moon. John was overjoyed to see the kids having fun and wanting to come to class. He'd found a happiness and peace in teaching since being honorably discharged from Desert Storm in 1991. He'd gone back to uni and got a teaching degree and immediately got hired on at Hiddleston in the winter of 1999, replacing Mr. Culverton, who retired after a thirty-year career of educating children. John wasn't sure if he could fill Mr. Culverton's steps, he was beloved in the community, but by April, he'd proven to be a popular and well-liked teacher.

Now it was May, and school would be letting out for summer half-term holiday. John wanted to make sure the kids had something exciting to do before the break, so he contacted an ex-girlfriend he was on friendly terms with, Mary Morstan, who worked at the planetarium, to come and help him facilitate the event. She was more than happy to help, and even was able to get some extra telescopes available.

\---

John was sitting at his desk writing up his lesson plans for tomorrow when he heard a knock on his door. He looked up towards the sound. "Come in!" he brightly called.

The door opened to reveal the smiling face of biology teacher Molly Hooper. "Hey Molly."

Molly taught Year 10, and was one of the first to welcome John to Hiddleston. The two had become fast friends. Year 9 and Year 10 science classrooms had their own wing on the second floor, while Year 11 and Year 12 were on the third. John hadn't met any of those teachers yet, as he pretty much stayed in his classroom. He ate lunch in his room or in the lounge of the academic wing with Greg Lestrade, the varsity rugby team coach. John was considering accepting a coaching position for the junior varsity rugby team. He'd played rugby when he was in secondary and had been pretty good at it.

"Hi John. How was your day?" Molly asked, taking a seat at one of the student desks in the front.

"Good. The kids are really looking forward to next Friday's stargazing party. I've got a few parents who said they wanted to chaperone, along with you and Mike. We're also going to be roasting marshmallows, making it almost like camping out."

"Oh I know they're looking forward to it. Some of the Year 10 who are friends with some of your Year 9's are jealous they're not doing anything like that," Molly replied.

"Well, I believe that kids learn best and are more eager to learn when things are hands on. You can make them read a textbook, or watch documentaries, but it's more exciting when they're actively participating. At least that's how it was for me when I was a kid," John explained.

"It's wonderful how the students have taken to you John." Molly leaned in closer to him. "I hear some of the girls have been talking to each other about how hot you are."

John threw his head back and roared with laughter. "You can't be serious! Me, hot? I call it a success if I don't show up to work with wrinkled clothes."

"I'm very serious John. You're giving Sherlock a run for his money."

John's face morphed into a puzzled expression. "Sherlock, who's that?"

Molly chuckled nervously, and John could see her blush slightly. Whoever this Sherlock was, apparently Molly had some type of feelings for him, John thought.

"Oh! I'm sorry John, you haven't met him yet. Sherlock Holmes. He teaches Year 11 chemistry and is considered the handsomest teacher in the school."

John pursed his lips in thought. "I see. And can I count you among the females who feel that way?"

Molly's eyes widened for a second. She looked down at her lap, fidgeting with her hands for a moment before looking at John. "It's so silly of me, having a crush on him when he's stated repeatedly women aren't his area. But he's incredibly smart, he has this voice that could melt butter, and he's...well, he's _beautiful_. Not many men can be called that."

"Well, it's not the first time someone's had a crush on someone else who was gay. I had a friend years ago who liked my sister and asked her out, but she's a lesbian. It took him months to get over it," John told her.

"I'm trying to get over my crush. I have a date this weekend with a guy I met at a coffee shop last week. Keep your fingers crossed," Molly said hopefully.

"Congratulations Molly. I hope your date is successful." John leaned back in his chair. "Say, you think this Sherlock would like to be one of the chaperones at the stargazing party?"

Molly vehemently shook her head. "Oh Lord no. Sherlock doesn't think astronomy is worthwhile. He told me he actually deleted the solar system from his mind palace."

John's face wrinkled up in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. "His mind what?"

Molly waved a hand dismissively. "You'll have to find that out for yourself."

"How can anyone think astronomy isn't worthwhile? I should go up to the third floor and give him a piece of my mind," John responded, a little put out.

"Well if you do John, be prepared to be verbally assassinated. Sherlock does not mince words. He says what's on his mind with no second thoughts and because of it, he's not the most popular teacher on campus. Several parents have called for him to be fired, but that's never going to happen. Not while his brother is headmaster."

John was gobsmacked. "Wait a minute! Mycroft Holmes is his brother?"

"Yes. You didn't know? They do share the same last name."

"Well yeah, but they don't resemble each other at all and you can have people here with the same last name who aren't related," John gently countered.

"Oh believe me, they're blood. Mycroft may not share Sherlock's looks, but he shares Sherlock's ability to verbally reduce you to tears, and he's just as smart. Maybe even more than Sherlock," Molly explained. "It may be best not to make enemies out of those two. So no, don't ask Sherlock to chaperone next Friday night. Or Jim Moriarty. He teaches Year 12 physics, and he's even more snobbish than Sherlock. He only wears Westwood suits to school."

John shook his head and laughed. "Well that does it, I'm definitely staying off the third floor."

*****

Sherlock and Jim were standing in the teachers' parking lot, taking a quick smoke break before heading into school to start the day. The kids wouldn't be here for another hour, and they liked getting in early to smoke and prep for their classes, since they both hightailed it out of school as soon as the last bell rang of the day.

It was at that same time that John was pulling into the parking lot in his red mini Cooper. John normally didn't come to school this early since he did all of his class prep after school, but this morning he had a breakfast meeting with Mary. 

Sherlock and Jim watched John park his car. He got out, carrying his messenger bag. He was wearing a navy blue jumper over a pale blue shirt, gray dress slacks, and black loafers. 

"Who is that?" Jim whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't answer at first. He continued to watch John, fascinated with how good he looked in his jumper. Normally he couldn't stand men in jumpers. But on this one, it worked beautifully. The navy color complimented his eyes and his distinguished silver hair.

John saw the two men. "Good morning gentlemen," he greeted with a smile as he strode past him, heading for the back employee entrance.

"Sherlock," Jim called out. "You're staring like a schoolboy in lust."

The chemistry teacher's brain came back online. He took another drag of his cigarette before answering. "I don't know who that was but I'm going to find out." 

\---

Molly was practically dragging John to the third floor teachers lounge. "Come on John, you need to stop being such a hermit at lunchtime."

"But Molly, I like being a hermit---ouch! Ease up with the death grip! You sure you should be teaching biology? I think you should be the coach for the wrestling team instead!"

Molly just laughed and continued to hold onto John. "Sherlock asked me about you this morning so it's only fitting you meet him."

John stopped dead in his tracks which caused Molly to ease her hold on John's arm. "Wait a minute, he knows who I am?"

Molly nodded. "I went up to his class this morning for small talk before the kids come like I always do, and he told me he saw you coming into class this morning. I think you made quite an impression on him."

John mentally re-traced his steps from earlier, and then the image of the two teachers smoking popped up in his mind. One tall and impossibly good-looking, one shorter wearing an expensive tailored suit. "Okay, I remember. I saw him this morning as I was coming in. Is he tall, with striking angular looks and dark hair?"

"That's Sherlock," Molly confirmed.

"Well I can see why the girls think he's hot. But why is he so intrigued by short, gray-haired me?"

Molly took John by the arm again. "That's why I'm taking you to meet him so you can find out for yourself."

The two stopped in front of a door marked TEACHERS LOUNGE - NO STUDENTS ALLOWED. Molly opened it, still holding onto John, who felt apprehensive and nervous. He gripped the handle of his lunch sack tight.

Sherlock was sitting at the table, hands folded in a prayer position, the tips of his long fingers touching his chin. His eyes were closed as if he was in deep meditation.

"Maybe we should go," John whispered to Molly.

"Nope, he's fine. Sherlock!" Molly called to him. "I brought John!"

Suddenly Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He turned his head towards the two teachers, focusing his gaze on John, who felt like he was a prize on display at a raffle. "Uh, hello, I'm John Watson," he said quietly.

"Yes I know. I had Mycroft pull your file. Former Army captain, graduate of Greenwich University, class valedictorian, has a sibling---"

"Woah, wait up! John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "How do you know that last part? It's not in my file. And why would you want to read my file anyway? It's supposed to be confidential...oh wait, never mind, your brother."

"Your lunch bag has the initials H.W. on it. They've faded over time but still visible," Sherlock explained in a tone that sounded John should already know this.

John absentmindedly looked down at his bag. "Yes, Harry--Harriet---is my older sister. She gave me this bag when I went back to uni. But that can't be the reason you're so interested in me, if Molly's telling the truth."

Sherlock looked at Molly sharply, who just shrugged. He rolled his eyes. John caught the exchange and smiled, trying hard not to laugh. "So, do you want to have lunch with me? If not, I'll just go back to my classroom."

"You might as well stay here now, we've only got twenty-five minutes," Sherlock replied with a sigh.

John was confused. Sherlock sure wasn't acting like he was interested in John and wanted to spend anytime with him. "Look, you sound put out by my presence here. I'll go. Molly, I'll catch you later." He turned to head out of the lounge.

"John wait!---" Molly began, but John already left. She turned and glared at Sherlock. "Why must you be such an utter arse? It's no wonder almost the entire school can't stand you. I don't know why _I_ even bother. I'm going after him. You can stay here alone, like always." With a huff, she stormed away, not seeing the guilt and hurt in Sherlock's eyes.

*****

John was in his classroom, going through stacks of VHS tapes. He pulled out one, a video about constellations and the origins behind them. He set that aside to show during his class tomorrow. 

Moments later, the door banged open. John jumped, nearly dropping his tapes. He looked up and saw Sherlock in the doorway. "What the hell?--" he shouted.

"John, may I come in? I need to apologize."

John nodded and Sherlock shut the door. He sat down on top of the desk right in front of John, who couldn't help but take a peek at Sherlock's long, lean legs, but he quickly recovered. "Since you know I was an Army captain, you should also know I suffer from PTSD, and if I had a gun right now, you'd probably be lying dead on the floor with a bullet between the eyes."

Sherlock looked at John fervently, suppressing a shiver at his firm tone, imagining if that's what he sounded like while talking to his soldiers. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry for how I acted today at lunchtime."

"I have a feeling you do a lot of apologizing. Molly told me you tend to antagonize a lot of people," John said matter-of-fact.

Sherlock huffed. "So many people in this school are idiots. I can't help if they don't like being told that."

John shook his head, chuckling. "That's your opinion and you know what they say about opinions, they're like arseholes, everyone has them."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. John chuckled again. "I accept your apology, but I have a way you can make it up to me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

"You can be a chaperone at my stargazing party next Friday night. It's going to be right here, on the back lawn. It's just for Year 9's, so you don't have to worry about running into anyone you may have pissed off."

Sherlock put his hands up in the air. "John, I---"

John crossed his arms. "No you don't. Molly already told me how you feel about astronomy and you deleting the solar system from your mind and all that nonsense. I don't care. Astronomy is just as important as chemistry. You do realize planets, stars, supernovas, all have their own distinct and unique chemical makeup? Have you ever had your students study what gasses helped to create our universe? Believe me, there's more to it than just reciting planets' names." He looked at Sherlock pointedly.

Sherlock was flabbergasted. That was an actual, credible, intelligent argument. Sherlock hardly heard a response like that. Typically it was just insults like, cock, prick, fag, or threats by parents to have him ousted from the school. Hardly anybody, apart from his brother or Jim or Molly, tried to engage him so coherently. And he wanted more of it.

"John," Sherlock breathed. "That was beautiful."

"My arguing with you was beautiful? I don't understand." John scratched the back of his neck, a habit he'd picked up when he sometimes was confused.

Sherlock stood up and began pacing. "Typically when someone argues with me it devolves into name-calling, threats to have me fired, and other juvenile tactics. But you---you  just talked to me like a regular human being with intelligence. It was like the sun breaking through the clouds."

John felt a tinge of sadness for him. He got up and approached the other man, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "I understand now. And I'll understand if you don't want to come next Friday night."

Sherlock smiled at John. "I've decided I'll be there after all. I think it's time I put the solar system back in my mind."

John giggled, and Sherlock followed suit, all the tension from before quickly fading away. "Hey, you wanna get out of here and go for a coffee or tea?" John asked. "I'll treat."

Sherlock nodded. "You ever been to the shop on the corner? They always have fresh hot drinks."

"Yeah. They make a bloody good vanilla chai."

"Well John, what are waiting for? Let's go!"

*****

Friday night ended up being lovely and mild with a clear, black star-filled moonless sky. On the back lawn of Hiddleston High, a large group of Year 9's were congregating, some sitting on blankets and talking amongst each other, some still looking through telescopes, some enjoying tea and cider that was being served by Molly, Mike and a few parents.

John was over the moon about how the stargazing party turned out. The kids had a blast finding constellations, and picking out planets. Mary and John had kept them entertained and interested with facts and trivia. But the highlight of the evening was Sherlock demonstrating how to make a supernova using a tennis ball, a ping-pong ball, and a wooden spool. The kids thoroughly enjoyed shouting "supernova!" and letting the balls and spool drop to the floor. 

Later, when things were winding down, John praised Sherlock for his fun presentation and asked him where he'd gotten the idea.

"YouTube. They actually do have some useful videos on there."

Even Mycroft had made an appearance, and deemed the entire event "surprisingly creative." Sherlock told John that was high praise coming from his brother, and John had just laughed.

\---

John was heading to his car when Sherlock came up beside him. "That was a lot of fun."

"It was, wasn't it? See, astronomy isn't so worthless after all."

"It's even more worthwhile because you're teaching it John." 

Before John could reply, Sherlock had bent down and kissed him softly. John responded by wrapping his arms around the younger man and returning his kiss. When they parted, John was a little breathless---and a little nervous. "We could get in trouble for that."

Sherlock shook his head. "No we won't. Not with Mycroft in charge. Besides, he knows I'm attracted to you. He actually likes you. Most of the staff drive him completely bonkers. Now, how about a repeat? Preferably back at my flat? And then we can do some more stargazing, just the two of us."

John nodded. "You know, I think I'm going to enjoy this private education."

Sherlock decided not to roll his eyes at that remark. He decided to kiss John again instead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a drama teacher there who resembles Tom Hiddleston. ;)


	6. 2005 (Hospital AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DI Greg Lestrade recalls the night Sherlock Holmes met John Watson.

Sherlock is twenty-three, John is twenty-six, and Greg is forty.

 

_July, 2005_

It's unbearably hot in London. How hot? Well, I'm in my office, air blasting as high as it can go, and I'm wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt and lightweight trousers. Normally I'd rather be out on the street, but today is paperwork day and I'm grateful to be stuck in my office for my shift filing reports and typing statements.

I can also tell it's extremely hot out because Sherlock Holmes is in my doorway, wearing a white-T shirt and jeans and his typically unruly dark curls are cut to a shorter length. Any other time, he's dressed impeccably in dark slacks and long-sleeved bespoke shirts. I also noticed he's put on some weight, which is good. He looks healthy. I've always worried about him being so thin and refusing to eat, saying food slows down his brain. For a genius, he can be a right idiot at times.

"Hello George," he drawled. I stopped by to tell you that I won't be available this weekend if any cases come up. I'll be on holiday all next week, going to Torquay."

I just shake my head. Sherlock has never been able to remember my actual first name, as long as I've known him. "Okay, that's fine. I've got Dimmock working this weekend and he's more than adequate." I pretend to ignore Sherlock's eye rolling. According to him, none of the Yard is adequate. "I'm glad you're getting away."

Sherlock huffed. "It wasn't my idea, but apparently it will do me good to, and I quote, 'get my infuriating but lovely arse out of London for a little while.'"

I throw my head back and laugh. Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted. "I don't think it was that hilarious."

"Oh yes it was," I reply, wiping tears out of my eyes. "Now get out of here Sherlock and have a good time. Don't worry, I'm sure we'll have some cases for you when you return. Heat like this, tempers are bound to flare, a body will eventually turn up."

"I'll hold you to that." Sherlock looked at his watch. "I have to dash, I need to pack, and if I don't get home soon, the packing will already be done and I'll have to redo it all over again. See you next week Gary."

"It's GREG!" I shout, but the git's already disappeared. I can't be mad, because when I first met Sherlock, he was eighteen, hooked on drugs, and living on the streets, shuffling from bolthole to bolthole. It took two years, but with my help, and the help of his brother Mycroft, we got Sherlock clean and off the street. I first noticed his brilliant mind when he helped me solve a murder while high off his tits on cocaine. He claimed the drugs helped him think, but it was ravaging his body. Now, he gets his rush off a different type of drug: love. And it probably wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for that winter night seven months ago...

*****

  _January_

I'm sitting in a hard, uncomfortable chair next to Sherlock, whose sitting lengthwise on a bed that's too short for him. His arms are crossed and he's sulking. I wouldn't be surprised if the git goes into a full-on strop in a few minutes. 

"It's your fault you know. I don't know how many times I've told you not to chase after criminals on your own without backup. Now we're spending a Friday night at the A&E."

Sherlock harrumphed. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from the pub Grant, but if it wasn't for me Arthur Peters would still be on the loose, stealing the jewels of London's precious elite."

I sighed. "Yes, I know. But you can't keep endangering your life like this. You're not Superman and one of these days, things are gonna end really bad for you. But you're so damn stubborn, nobody can tell you anything. And for the last time, my name is Greg."

"Why should anybody tell me anything when I know all of it?" Sherlock bragged.

I groaned. "Jesus, you're an annoying arse. I hope the doctor comes soon. The quicker we get you out of here, the quicker I can go home and not have to deal with your attitude."

"I don't know why you're complaining about me when you're romantically interested in Mycroft, and he's ten times worse."

I was ready for that remark. "Because Sherlock, he doesn't go running off after dangerous people and will actually listen to people. I don't have to babysit _him_."

Sherlock snorted. "He doesn't run because he's too fat."

I did a facepalm. "Mycroft is not fat. You need to get your vision checked."

Before the berk could say any more choice words, the doctor came in. I'm assuming he was a doctor. He had a white coat on, but it was rolled up to his elbows. He wore a blue and white checked shirt with a navy blue tie, blue jeans, and white trainers. He wore a stethoscope around his neck. But he was really young. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties. He was short, blond, and had a warm smile on his face.

Sherlock was studying the man intently. I braced myself for whatever would come out of his mouth and prayed he'd keep quiet.

The blond man must have noticed our expressions because he chuckled. "Don't worry, I am a doctor, I assure you. "I'm doing residency here. Doctor John Watson."

"Hello Doctor Watson. I'm DI Greg Lestrade and the idiot on the bed is Sherlock Holmes."

Doctor Watson chuckled again. "The nurse filled me in." He looked at the chart he was carrying and then at Sherlock. "Playing hero I see. Which got you a sprained ankle and two cracked ribs. I hear you've been here so many times they're thinking of naming one of the rooms after you."

I laughed out loud at that, I couldn't help it. Sherlock was not amused.

"If the Yard wasn't so incompetent, I wouldn't have to do their jobs for them and keep coming here," he spat.

Doctor Watson raised his eyebrow and gave me a side eye. "Sherlock consults for us on difficult cases. We were trailing a cat burglar when he decided to chase him solo. He tackled him, the two went down and Sherlock hurt his ankle. The perp decided to whack him in the chest with a pipe that was conveniently lying on the ground."

Doctor Watson hummed. "I see. And what happened to the cat burglar?"

"He was arrested and taken back to the Yard," I answered.

"Well, at least he's off the streets, so thank you for that Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes widened. I could see he was definitely caught off guard by Doctor Watson's remark. I was too. "Hang on Doctor. You mean you're not going to chastise him about trying to play action hero and getting injured?"

Doctor Watson shook his head. "I could, but I have a feeling Mr. Holmes does what he wants and no amount of lecturing is going to change that." He laid the chart on the bed. "Now, I'm going to wrap your ribs and your ankle and give you a painkiller. I read your medical history and I'm aware of your past narcotic use, but I believe you'll be just fine with Percoset. It'll make you drowsy, which is good, because along with the pain meds, you need to be off your feet and healing. That means no running, no tackling criminals, no other strenuous activity."

I gave Sherlock a firm, steely gaze. "Don't worry Doctor, I'm going to hold him to that." I could see Sherlock pouting, ready to argue, but I held up my hand. "If you're worried about getting bored, I have a big stack of cold cases you can look through. I'll bring them to your flat tomorrow. All right?"

Sherlock broke out into a smile. "Thank you Greg. That would be most appreciative."

I nearly fell onto the floor. "You finally got my name right! After all this time! We're going to have a blizzard."

Doctor Watson looked at us like we had three heads. "Uh, you had to be there," I said sheepishly.

He laughed. "Say no more. I'm going to get the wrapping tape and the meds. Oh, and a set of crutches. Please use them when you're going to the loo or walking around your flat, but not too much walking other than what's necessary. Do you have to go up any steps?"

"Seventeen to my flat and back down," Sherlock said. I noticed he was gazing at Doctor Watson with a weird look on his face. 

"Well, make sure you have someone to help you into the flat, and if you need things from outside, have someone get them for you."

Doctor Watson turned his eyes back to me. "Don't worry about that Doctor," I told him earnestly. Sherlock has me and his brother for that."

Sherlock snorted. "I'm sure Mycroft will love having me rendered helpless like a baby, the fat, irritating, pompous git."

I saw Doctor Watson raise his eyebrows again so I explained. "His older brother. Sherlock mistakes his concern for his wellbeing as meddling."

He smiled sympathetically. "I have an older sister so I know what it feels like. Tries to run my life even though hers is a mess." He then laughed nervously. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Not professional."

"I find your candor refreshing Doctor," Sherlock praised. I turned to him. His eyes were sparkling and he had a broad grin on his face. It was then that I realized Sherlock was most definitely attracted to the good doctor, and I believed Doctor Watson was a little bit enamored of Sherlock. Maybe it would be good thing for Sherlock to have a doctor in his life. Then there would be someone else to made sure he ate regularly and patched up his scrapes when he decided to go off and act like the British version of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I saw Doctor Watson slightly blush. Oh yeah, there was a spark igniting between these two idiots. I felt like I was watching one of those sappy romantic comedies my ex-wife used to drag me to. 

"Well, I don't want to prolong your stay any longer Mr. Holmes. I'm going to get that wrap. I'll need you to take off your shirt. I'll be right back." As Doctor Watson was leaving, Sherlock called out to him. "Please call me Sherlock. Mr. Holmes is for my older brother."

The doctor turned around and grinned. "I'll be right back...Sherlock."

When he was out of the room, I watched Sherlock. He had a small, soft smile on his face. Yep, definitely smitten. 

I decided it would be a good idea to step out of the room. I had a feeling Doctor Watson tending to a shirtless Sherlock would be awkward, even more so with me there. "Sherlock, I'm going to try and find some coffee. I'll be back in a mo."

Sherlock just nodded as he started to undress. I walked out and headed towards the nurses' station and I saw Doctor Watson with wrap and an ice pack in his hands. "I'll come get you when we're done," he told me.

I watched him go back into Sherlock's room. For some reason, I felt the need to stand right outside. I was hoping I'd hear some conversation between them. I wondered if Sherlock would try deducing John. Usually when he spilled out someone's life's history as he did, it didn't end well. I had a feeling Doctor Watson was different from everybody else, he seemed pretty affable.

I heard Sherlock talking but he was quiet, I could barely make out what he was saying to Doctor Watson. Whatever it was, the blond man thought it was amusing because I heard him chuckle. Then I heard him say "Wow, that's amazing!"

Now that was different. Normally people never said that to Sherlock. 

I heard Sherlock murmur something, and then I heard Doctor Watson laugh. Followed by Sherlock laughing, and then "Ouch!" I heard the doctor laugh again, and say "Yeah, I forgot to mention you might not want to do any of that while your ribs are healing. We don't want another fracture."

Ten minutes later, I heard the door open. I moved some distance away so it wouldn't look like I was eavesdropping. It was Doctor Watson. "Sherlock's all wrapped and ready to go. I'm going to get his pain meds, and write a prescription refill."

"Great, thanks Doctor."

He smiled. "Sherlock is amazing. He's one of the most interesting guys I've ever met."

"He seems to think you're pretty amazing too," I told him.

Doctor Watson was in disbelief. "Me? Nah, I'm just a poor doctor-in-training living in a crappy bedsit."

"I'd disagree Doctor. Not everyone is cut out for this line of work."

He nodded. "But I could say the same about policework."

I laughed. "True."

"I'll be back in a tic with the meds," Doctor Watson said. He seemed to have a spring in his step. I found myself really liking him and hoped whatever was going on between him and Sherlock would grow. Lord knows Sherlock was due for a healthy relationship. His last one was a disaster and Mycroft had used his influence to have the man banned from the country. Sherlock had only been nineteen at the time. He'd met him in rehab and the other guy was definitely not interested in getting clean, but getting into Sherlock's pants. Sherlock was vulnerable and thought it was love. No doubt Mycroft would do a background check on Doctor Watson, but I was sure he'd find no skeletons in his closet. He seemed to be the real deal.

*****

By the end of January, Sherlock and his doctor were dating. By the end of February, John had moved into Sherlock's flat (after Mycroft's background check came back squeaky clean). Now it's July, and the two are more in love than ever and ready to go on a holiday that John planned for the two of them. Even though Sherlock pretends to fuss, he secretly loves that he and John will get some much needed together time, away from London, away from the murderers, robbers, and assorted thugs dirtying up the street.

\---

It was my lunch break so I braved the heat to head to 221 B Baker Street to see if Sherlock indeed had to end up repacking everything. I went up the seventeen steps and knocked on the door.

The door opened and I saw the smiling face of John Watson, wearing a loose-fitting blue T-shirt, olive cargo shorts and brown sandals. "Hey Greg, come on in. Sherlock's in his bedroom. He decided I didn't do a good enough job packing his bags."

I laughed. "I had a feeling that would happen."

"Sherlock can be so unpredictable, yet predictable at the same time. That's one of the things I love about him."

I entered the flat. It was spotless. "Been on a cleaning streak John?"

"Yeah. I told Sherlock I wanted to come back home to a clean flat. But I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will be in doing her dusting. Sherlock is leaving a note for her not to go in the fridge."

"Oi, what body parts is he storing in there now?" I asked with a shake of my head.

"Only a human heart and some hands. Not as bad as the head he brought home last month. As a doctor, you'd think I'd be averse to it, but it's off putting when you open the door looking for something to eat and this dead white face is staring back at you, silently judging you for invading his privacy."

Sherlock entered the living room. "I'm all ready John."

John went to kiss him on the cheek. "Now that you repacked everything to the Holmesian standard."

"Obviously," Sherlock replied. John laughed and kissed him again. Sherlock smiled and pressed a kiss to John's forehead. I couldn't help but grin like an idiot, and I had to silently thank a certain cat burglar. If it wasn't for Mr. Arthur Peters, these two gits would have never met and fallen madly in love. Sometimes crime does pay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I'm a sucker for fics where John is the doctor that treats Sherlock at the A&E (emergency room for fellow Yanks) and they fall in love.


	7. 2019 (Omegaverse/Werewolves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern day London is a city of werewolves. They also have a second gender, alpha or omega. John Watson is a rare breed: a were that while biologically omega also has alpha DNA in his blood. He is a gamma. While not in any hurry to be bonded, at the same time he believes he will never find a mate due to his special properties. That's about to change.

Werewolf John and Werewolf Sherlock.

For this story, although it's set in current times John and Sherlock are the ages they were in S1.

In this Omegaverse, I've included a new gender that will be explained more in the story.

Also, the werewolves in this story are the kind that walk on two legs. I prefer them this way than actual four legged wolves with more dog like qualities that are usually found in Johnlock werewolf fics. 

 

The moon was disappearing as its daylight comrade the sun began to rise in the orange and pink tinted sky. In an abandoned warehouse on the docks of the Thames, a werewolf let out one last howl as it began to shift and transform back into its human form, a small, muscular man. Snow white fur was replaced by tanned skin and blond hair, glowing yellow eyes became blue orbs with a ring of brown around them.

John stretched and shakily got up on his legs. Even after so many years of transformations, he still needed to adjust after going back to human. He took in his surroundings. The building was dark and smelled damp and musty, like a basement with water damage, and it was humid inside. Streaks of sunlight filtered through two dirty windows on either side of the building. 

John wiped sweat off his forehead and his breathing became less labored. He let out a big yawn. He knew he didn't get much sleep after his night hunt. He preferred to stay up just before sunrise. He would get more sleep when he returned to his flat.

John left the warehouse, stark naked. No shame was needed, it wouldn't be long before other naked people filled the streets, returning to their homes after being out all night in their wolf forms. It had been this way for a while. It all started when the British government got their hands on werewolf DNA found in the Carpathian mountains, where the ancient werewolf stories and legends had originated from. A terrible and deadly virus had taken hold in the UK, hitting Britain hardest. A scientist had worked with the DNA and created a vaccine out of it as a cure for the virus. Of course the downside was that after taking it people would become werewolves. Everyone had to take the vaccine and face the repercussions. The entire nation would need to change its ways to deal with its citizens becoming part wolf every month. 

John at the time was in a hospital recovering from a gunshot wound that ended his military career, and had developed an infection post surgery. John was given the vaccine and in a matter of minutes, he was infection free and the wound in his shoulder healed without leaving a scar. John wasn't told what was really in it at first, and he was furious. His ire didn't last long, because not long after being injected, he began to feel woozy, hot---and horny.

John was sedated and two days later, he woke up with a heightened sense of smell, hearing, and a strong craving for meat. One of the orderlies who came to check on him suddenly pounced on him, and John fought back viciously, dislocating the orderly's right arm. John was taken for tests and bloodwork, where he learned that another side effect of the werewolf vaccine was that anyone who got it presented with a second gender. You either presented as an alpha or omega. All females automatically presented omega.  Newly presented alphas would go into a rut. Omegas would go into heat. Sex drives were extremely high for both. Male omegas developed a uterus and could now be impregnated and give birth.

John, however, turned out to be a mix of both. Biologically he was an omega but his bloodstream carried alpha genes. The doctors and scientists were dumbfounded and kept John in the hospital for weeks, running all kinds of tests on him to determine what caused it and finally they discovered that John's testosterone levels were slightly higher than any of the already presented male omegas. This also explained why he had the strength of an alpha and was able to fight off the orderly as he did. One of the doctors, Mike Stamford, came up with a new term for John's uniqueness: gamma. He took it from _The Incredible Hulk_ comics, where gamma rays from a bomb caused Bruce Banner to transform into the Hulk when angered or stressed.

John eventually learned to live with his new status, coming to enjoy being so rare and special. And unlike most weres, whose fur was either black, gray, or brown, his was pure white when he changed. But being a gamma did come with one minor downside---almost all alpha weres wanted a typical omega were for their mate. John, as a gamma, was more feisty and independent and therefore more resistant to alpha pheromones. And although John was in no hurry to bond with any old alpha were that came along, he was rather lonely and wondered if there was someone out there would who want him.

_____

John returned to his tiny flat, took a shower, and dressed in gray sweats and a ratty but comfortable white T-shirt with Northumberland Fusiliers written in green on it. He put a kettle on and turned on the radio. Some girl whining about being bad at love was singing. John took his steaming cup and sat down at his kitchen table, powering up his laptop and checking his phone for messages; they were none. He opened his blog, _The Memoirs of John H. Watson_ , where he blogged about his life and being a gamma. He learned there were two other gamma males in the UK who reached out to him in his blog and they became quick internet friends. They were planning a meetup this fall in Wales, where one of them lived. Knowing he wasn't truly alone made him feel better. 

John spent an hour writing a post and published it. He was in the middle of refreshing his tea when his phone rang. He recognized the ringtone of his good friend Bill Murray. "Hey Bill," John greeted.

"Hey John. How are you? Did you have a good hunt last night?" Bill asked.

"Yeah. Bagged two rabbits and a deer. Then I just ran through the countryside most of the night before kipping in a building near the Thames. How about you?"

"I can't complain, found a group of feral cats. Boy did they put up a fight. Those things can be vicious."

John laughed. He wasn't a cat fan and tried to stay away from them at all costs both as a human and a wolf.

"Anyway," Bill continued, "I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me tonight, have a few pints and chat, maybe do some dancing."

"Sure, sounds like fun. I haven't been out for a while. You have a place in mind?"

"Total Eclipse," Bill told him.

"The new gay club?" John had heard it was a popular place for the city's gay male weres. John had come out before enlisting in the Army but kept it to himself. After being invalidated, he was now public and proud of his sexuality. His older sister Harry had been out for years and was living in Scotland with her mate Clara. 

"Yup. I'm feeling adventurous." Bill was a bisexual omega were who ended a relationship with an alpha male a few months ago after the alpha refused to bond with him.

"What time do you want to go? I can come to your flat and we can can leave from there?" John asked.

"Nine sound good?"

John nodded. "I'll see you then. Bye Bill!"

The two ended their conversation. John let out another yawn and decided to head to bed for a nap. He didn't want to go out and be tired.

*****

After a dinner of beef stew and another shower, John changed into his outfit for the night: a pair of skinny dark blue jeans that accentuated his backside, a black button down, and his favorite denim jacket. He grabbed his wallet and keys and was out the door heading to Bill's flat. It was only a few blocks away from his place.

It was a mild night with a gentle breeze and the air felt good to John. He could make out both scents of alphas and omegas from afar. None of the alpha scents called to him. He figured if a scent did spark his interest it would have to be very unique.

A German shepherd approached him. John smiled and closed one of his fists, bringing it down so the dog could sniff it. The dog seemed pleased and went on its merry way. John did notice it had a collar so it was someone's pet, and he chuckled over werewolves having pets. In horror films, dogs and other animals barked and attacked those they suspected of being a werewolf. 

John never attacked domesticated animals while in his wolf form. And the government held monthly controlled hunts where weres could sign up to pursue and capture strays, or research animals that otherwise would have been put down to be sent to schools for biology classes, or livestock that would have been destroyed. The only few pure humans left were those in prison who escaped being infected. Death row prisoners were given a choice of being executed by lethal injection or death by werewolf during a full moon. 

Bill's flat was on the first floor. John rang the doorbell and seconds later his friend appeared. Bill was an attractive average height redhead with sparkling green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his face. He wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black shirt over it, unbuttoned to look like a jacket. "Hi John. Ready to have some fun?" he asked.

"I'm always up for fun," John replied with a laugh.

"You wanna walk, or you wanna try and catch a taxi?"

"Let's walk. It's a nice evening," John answered.

Bill locked the door and the two men were on their way to the club. It was about a ten minute walk and as they got closer they saw a small crowd of men congregating in front of the building. The club was housed in a former Waitrose. A blue neon sign that said Total Eclipse hung right in the middle of where the Waitrose sign used to be. The building was painted black and the windows had been blacked out too.

John and Bill walked past the group, which earned them whistles and catcalls. John shook his head and Bill just laughed. "Obviously alphas," Bill said.

The alpha bouncer let the two men in. He was bonded so John & Bill's scents had no effect on him. Colored flashing lights pulsed from the DJ's booth, and a huge sparkling disco ball hung from the ceiling, casting reflections of light onto the massive dance floor. 

"Let's see if we can find a seat at the bar," Bill said, and John nodded in agreement.

The bar was a long L-shaped table with a shiny black marble top. Shelves of liquors, both high-top and lesser brands, were displayed invitingly behind the bar. Two fridges on either side housed bottles of beer and other alcoholic drinks.

John and Bill found two seats at the end closer to the entrance. The bartender, a bonded omega, approached them, and John and Bill both ordered pints of Guinness.

"It's not too crowded in here tonight," John remarked as he looked around.

"It'll get crowded later, after eleven. That's when the wilder weres come in and really start tearing up the joint," Bill explained. 

The bartender arrived with their pints. Bill picked his up. "Let's have a toast."

John lifted his glass. "Okay. What should we toast to?"

Bill thought for a moment. "Hmm, how about to friendship and good beer?"

John laughed. "I'll drink to that!"

Moments later a very attractive, well-built man with light brown hair, blue eyes, and stubble sauntered over and slid an arm around Bill. "Hey gorgeous. I'll buy your next pint."

Bill froze, and John suppressed a laugh. Bill was never lacking in interested alphas.

"What's the matter beautiful? Cat got your tongue?" the alpha teased.

"I'm okay. I think this is the fastest I've ever been approached," Bill sheepishly replied.

The alpha chuckled. "Beat the world record did I?"

"Bill, you gonna be okay?" John asked, a little concerned. It hadn't been that long that Bill's previous relationship had ended, and he didn't want his friend to wind up in a dubious situation.

The alpha glared at John. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"Hey now," Bill retorted, removing the alpha's arm. "He's my best friend and he's just looking out for my welfare."

The alpha cast John a puzzling glance. "He's not an alpha?"

John couldn't help but smile. It hadn't been the first time an alpha thought he was another alpha, as his scent was not as potent as typical omegas.

"No, he's omega like me. Well, biologically," Bill said.

The alpha looked at John again in confusion so John decided to explain. "I'm gamma. I have a reproductive system, but I have alpha DNA in my blood."

The alpha's eyes nearly bulged out of its sockets. "Holy shit. That's unreal. No wonder I couldn't smell you so prominently."

"There's not many of us, just me and two others, one's in Wales, the other's in Ireland. Kinda feels nice to be special."

"Hey, I'm sorry for snapping at you like that," the alpha apologized.

John smiled. "It's okay. No harm done." He looked at Bill. "I think this one's okay my friend. Let him buy you another round."

The alpha grinned at John, and Bill nodded. "Okay. If you think he's cool, so will I." He turned to the alpha. "I'm Bill Murray. He held out his hand.

"Sebastian Moran, and it's a pleasure gorgeous." Sebastian took Bill's hand and gently caressed it.

John cleared his throat. "I'm John Watson, and I'm going to go and mill around a bit. Bill, see you later?"

"Yeah," he replied, but he was too busy peering into Sebastian's blue eyes. John chuckled to himself, took his pint, and left the bar. He scanned the club for a solitary space he could drink and people watch, and found a small round table close to the dance floor. He hightailed it over and claimed it, sitting down and taking another drink. There weren't too many dancers, but that was probably because the DJ was playing Thunder by Imagine Dragons and it wasn't a song you could really move to.

John was nearly finished his beer and was contemplating another round when his nostrils became engulfed with a very powerful---and sexy---alpha scent. It startled him, as he never was this affected by an alpha's smell. He inhaled deeply. He could make out patchouli, clover, with a hint of black pepper and an exotic spicy tea. Four scents that didn't have the right to smell so amazing together. It was truly intoxicating. But an alpha with such a distinctive and strong scent would definitely be someone that preferred a typical omega for bonding and breeding. It certainly wouldn't be him.

*****

Sherlock entered the club, commanding attention in his black leather jacket that came down to his ankles, tight black jeans and fitted aubergine T-shirt that teased a hint of his nipples. He surveyed the scene, scoffing at all the boring, unoriginal weres that were either sitting and drinking or swaying stupidly to the awful music blaring out of the speakers. He wondered why he even decided to come here tonight, then he remembered it was either find something to do on his own or have dinner with his annoying brother and his mate. He tolerated Greg, actually liked him as Greg called for his assistance many times to solve cases that stumped him and his fellow Yarders, and couldn't begin to fathom why the man agreed to bond with Mycroft. His older brother was insufferable. He kept referring to them as a pack and Sherlock kept reminding him they didn't need to be a pack because they weren't pure werewolves. 

His nose twitched in annoyance at all the cloying smells from the omegas. As an unbonded alpha, the scents from the other gender often clogged up his nostrils which slowed down his brain and made him feel even more irritable than he usually was. Mycroft and Greg constantly pestered him to settle down and find a mate so he would, as they put it, 'be more agreeable and tolerable' but he hadn't found an omega he thought was worthwhile. 

Sherlock tugged at his dark curls and closed his eyes, mentally willing his body to block out the irritating scents. He retreated into his mind, pulling up calming images of a bright full moon against a midnight black sky, feeling the rush of the wind and the warmth of summer rain as the wolf within ran in the London woods. He could feel his body and mind becoming clearer and calmer.

His eyes snapped open. The lights and music he could still hear, but it was faint. There was a new scent invading his nose, and it was a scent he'd never encountered before from an omega. Honey just harvested from beehives, like it was on his grandparents' farm in Sussex. Touches of maple and cinnamon...and gun oil.

Sherlock, captivated by this intriguing mix of scents, took a look around the club to see where this lovely symphony of smells was coming from. With his gaze towards the left side, he saw a small blond man sitting alone at a table, watching the dancers and smiling, head and shoulders bobbing from side to side in time with the music. He'd found the source, and he had to meet him.

*****

John saw the tall, gorgeous alpha with a head full of curls walking towards him and he was dumbstruck. The powerful scent that captivated him was coming from this man. _No_ , he thought, _maybe he's just going to walk past me, looking for someone else._   But to John's shock and surprise, the man stopped right at his table, looking at him intensely.

"You smell absolutely divine," the alpha said in a deep baritone that made John shiver with arousal. _Of course he'd have a sexy voice to match his appearance_ , he told himself. 

"Well, um, thank you. It's a bit of surprise that you can smell me. All the alphas I've met say my scent is very faint," John replied, his voice a little too meek for his liking.

The alpha snorted. "Those alphas are idiots."

John raised his eyebrows. "Well, not really. I'm a gamma so alphas can't really detect my scent, and their scents don't affect me. But yours---I smelled it right away, and it was really powerful. I've never smelled anything quite like it."

Sherlock looked at John like he got slapped. Gamma? He'd never heard of someone being a gamma. After being injected with the werewolf vaccine, you either presented as alpha or omega.... _oh_. Suddenly this wonderful smelling and handsome man became even more interesting and intriguing than ever.

John saw Sherlock's reaction, and sadness came across his face. He was going to be rejected again. "Yeah, I'm very rare. I have alpha DNA in my bloodstream. That's why my scent doesn't get a strong reaction to alphas. I'm not attractive enough. Alphas want an omega whose scent they like, and an omega who's more submissive. I guess that's what you want too."

Sherlock shook his head vehemently. The last thing he wanted was a submissive omega. "Absolutely not. If I wanted any old omega I could have had one by now. But an omega who also has alpha tendencies? That's fascinating. That's perfect.  _You're_ perfect.  The name's Sherlock Holmes. I have a tendency not to talk for hours, I play my violin at all hours of the day and night, and I'm prone to shoot walls when I'm bored. Want to bond? And dance too? I love dancing, always have."

John was completely gobsmacked."Woah, hold on a minute!" John waved his hands from side to side. "We've only just met and you already want to bond?  I mean, even though you smell amazing and are the best looking chap I've ever seen in my life."

Sherlock grinned madly. "Of course. Is there a problem? Potential bondmates should know the worst about each other." 

John barked out a laugh. "I haven't even told you anything about me, other than I'm a gamma."

Sherlock smirked and rubbed his hands together. This was going to be fun. "You don't have to tell me anything. I know you're former military due to your haircut - you could choose to grow it out but you're used to regulation length so you keep it that way. Before I came over to you, you reached up and self-consciously touched your left shoulder - so more than likely discharged due to an injury there, gunshot wound. You didn't come alone, but with a friend who is omega, as you have a faint trace of his scent on you, but he found an alpha that's trustworthy so you didn't have a problem leaving him and you're content to be by yourself. You don't own any pets, there's no scent of any other animals on you. You have a callous on your right middle finger caused by extensive writing, you must have kept a journal while you were in the military. The watch you're wearing looks masculine but is actually a woman's, it has a smaller face. Since you're in a gay club, it's not from a girlfriend, so either a sister or female friend."

Sherlock exhaled deeply and waited for John's response, looking at him dead on. He saw John's eyes widen and his mouth drop open, gaping like a fish and he wondered with baited breath what he would say or do.

"Wow," John breathed. "That was amazing."

This time it was Sherlock whose eyes were wide and mouth open. "You---you really think so?"

John nodded. "It was brilliant."

Warmth spread through Sherlock's body like sunshine heating up a countryside meadow. He knew he had to grab this man and not let go. Maybe this is how Mycroft felt when he knew Greg was the one for him.

"So uh, you still want to dance? I have to think about bonding, but if you do what you just did on a continual basis, it probably wouldn't take long for me to make up my mind," John said, a little sheepishly.

"Yes," Sherlock replied without hesitation, taking John's hands in his and leading him to the dance floor.

John chuckled softly. "Okay, just checking. My name's John Watson. As a potential bondmate, knowing what to call me does help."

Sherlock said his name in his mind. An ordinary name, but a beautiful one. It flowed perfectly like a sparkling, clear river.

The two men stepped onto the dance floor. The song playing was the same one heard in John's flat this morning. As Sherlock wrapped his long and lean arms around John, he listened to the song's chorus. He didn't think he was going to be bad at love after meeting this special and beautiful man.

*****

_One month later_

The full moon shone down brightly over the cool green grass and tall trees that dotted the Sussex landscape. Two werewolves, one a tall stately brownish-red, the other a little smaller whose fur was a steel gray, stood looking on approvingly at two other werewolves, one lean with sleek black fur who elegantly sat on its haunches, the other a shorter, but slightly more muscular, pure white wolf, who was carrying in its arms a large deer. The white wolf laid the deer down in front of the black one like it was presenting a coveted prize. The black wolf affectionately licked its white mate and the two began to feed off the deer's flesh.

When Sherlock introduced John to Mycroft and Greg, the two immediately knew John was the one, and when he told them about his special gender, Mycroft was extremely excited. As a gamma, John could hold his own, and he could both nurture and protect his stubborn younger brother, especially during dangerous cases. Mycroft would have more time to look after Greg, who was now pregnant with their first litter. 

Two weeks before the full moon, John accepted Sherlock's offer to bond as his heat was soon approaching. Mycroft and Greg suggested John and Sherlock go to the family farm in Sussex for their bonding, and to enjoy their first hunt as bonded mates in a safe and private space. When the couple asked if Mycroft and Greg wanted to come to hunt with them, they accepted.

Mycroft and Greg left John and Sherlock to find their own meal and bask in the glow of their own happiness, each glad Sherlock finally found someone to love and accept him as he was, and John had finally found the alpha that would do the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this one was the hardest to write and there's a lot more I could do with the story, but I like the ending as is. Just one more chapter to go!


	8. 2032 (Retirementlock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixty year-old widower John is encouraged by his daughter to create a profile for an online dating site that caters to single older people. In a different part of the country, Sherlock's children are encouraging him to do the same. You know how this will go!

Older widowed Sherlock & older widowed John with a dash of Parentlock.

 

John looked at the large monitor screen skeptically. "I don't know about this Rosie, trying to find a partner online. Truth be told, I'm a bit afraid."

Rosie smiled reassuringly at her father. "I know Dad, but Your Turn isn't like all those other dating sites out there. It's strictly for people fifty and up."

"Anyone can lie about their age on the Internet," John pointed out.

"True, but I don't think anyone who's in their twenties and thirties would make a fake profile here," Rosie gently countered.

"Unless they're looking for a sugar daddy or a sugar mommy," John said matter-of-fact.

Rosie just laughed and shook her head. "They have their own dating site."

John looked at her sharply. "And how would you know young lady?"

"Oh Dad, come on! You know I'm in a committed relationship with Jasmine. Anyway, she and I looked on it one night for fun. We were having a good time cracking up reading all the profiles. Talk about high expectations."

"Yeah? Well, nobody better have high expectations when it comes to me."

"Dad!" Rosie exclaimed incredulously. "Stop putting yourself down. You still turn heads. Remember that thirtysomething woman with the long black hair and blue eyes at the pharmacy? She called you a silver fox."

"Oh yeah," John replied, the memory coming back to him. "I guess I do still have it huh?"

Rosie kissed the top of her dad's head, ruffling his silver hair. "You sure do. Now come on, let's get you online so you can get a new boyfriend or girlfriend."

John smiled lovingly at his daughter. Mary Rose Watson, known as Rosie ever since she was a little girl, was the light of his life. Her mother, Rosamund Morstan, who went by her middle name Mary, had met John when he was in med school and she in nursing school. They married shortly after John's thirtieth birthday and three years later, had Rosie. Mary sadly passed away at age forty-five due to breast cancer, leaving John a young widower. He didn't start dating again until his fifties, and had a few casual short-term relationships with women and men. Rosie, now twenty-six and a nurse herself, was living with her longtime girlfriend Jasmine. She thought it was the right time for her dad to pursue another long-term relationship. He retired from his surgery career and was living comfortably in a one-story bungalow in a London suburb that had a small yard with a patio in the back that John made into a garden. On nice days, he'd sit out on the patio with a cup of tea and a book, or his tablet, watching his flowers and vegetables grow. Rosie and Jasmine would come over and help John pick the tomatoes, carrots, beets, and peas and they'd can them for fall and winter, and in spring and summer, use them fresh in meals.

John wasn't a hermit. He gave up his car for a bike and would bike into town to run errands, do his shopping, have meals in the pubs with his friends, or spend time people watching at Regent's Park. John was still fit and the bike riding kept him active and healthy. He loved feeling the sunshine and breezes on his body as he rode, and enjoyed saying hello to people on their porches. Retirement was definitely the best thing he'd done, besides marry Mary and have Rosie.

"You really think I'm going to find a second chance at love on here?" John asked his daughter, still a little skeptical.

"Absolutely. "I wouldn't have met Jasmine if it wasn't for the internet." Rosie had met her soon-to-be-girlfriend on a Doctor Who Facebook fan page. "If I can, so can you."

John nodded and looked back at the screen, with images of happy couples surrounded by the site name. "Right then, let's do this."

*****

Sherlock looked at the large monitor screen skeptically. "You can't be serious. You want me to try and find a partner on this site? And what's with this name, Your Turn? What do they mean by Your Turn? As in Your Turn to be suckered by romance?"

Sherlock's son Theo looked at his twin sister Sophie and shook his head. "Dad, stop being cynical for a change and give it a chance. If anyone needs a boyfriend, it's you. You've been miserable for over a year and Sophie and I hate that you're so unhappy."

"Daddy, this is a really good place, trust me. It's where Molly found her new beau. The same will happen for you. Who wouldn't want you? You're handsome, you dress elegantly, you have genius level intelligence...you're the total package," Sophie told her father.

"Well, I may be wanted, but do _I_ want someone? You know most people are idiots," Sherlock gently retorted.

"We know Dad, as you've told us ever since we could walk and talk. But give this a chance, at least for us," Theo pleaded. "I think you have a great chance at finding someone good. Lord knows you need it after the disaster that was Sebastian Wilkes."

Sherlock snorted. "God, what did I ever see in him and how could I be so stupid that I didn't realize he was a money-hungry cheat?"

"Well Daddy, love makes some blind, even if they're geniuses," Sophie replied, bending down to kiss her father on the cheek. "Luckily you caught on to him before he bled us dry,"

Sherlock nodded, grateful for that. He'd been so lonely after his husband Victor passed away that he was vulnerable, and allowed Sebastian into his life not knowing until six months into the relationship the other man was just interested in Sherlock's money and nothing else. When Sherlock and his children discovered cash missing out of not only his checking account, but the twins' trust funds, they traced it back to the duplicitous boyfriend and threw him out of the house. They were also able to recover the stolen money which Sebastian had put into a separate, secret account. Sebastian ultimately ended up in jail in France thanks to a warrant the French police had on him for check fraud.

The whole experience soured Sherlock, and he promptly fled London, moving to his parents' cottage in Sussex, where he now spent his days beekeeping and selling his honey in town. He'd always had a fascination with bees and vowed when he got older he would take up beekeeping full time. He still corresponded with his friend DI Greg Lestrade via online, helping him with cases both active and cold, but no longer took private clients as a detective. Raising bees at his cottage gave him a peace and happiness he could only dream of.

His children Theo and Sophie, were born to one of his homeless contacts, a young woman who conceived them while high on drugs. Not able to care for them, Sherlock and Victor adopted them after their birth and raised them in a flat on Baker Street. Their landlady Mrs. Hudson, was like a surrogate grandmother, doting on them and baking all kinds of treats for the family. 

Now Victor was gone, after the car he was driving hit a patch of black ice which sent him crashing into a tree and no hope of survival. Mrs. Hudson had also passed on, peacefully in her sleep during a vacation to Florida. Sherlock's brother Mycroft had retired from his government job and was now living at the family's other home in France. Sherlock's inner circle had shrunk, but he still had Greg and his friend Molly Hooper, who still worked at the morgue in St. Bart's, only part-time now. She and Greg would visit Sherlock in Sussex when they could. Theo and Sophie transferred to Sussex University to be closer to their father. 

All in all, Sherlock for the most part was happy, but sometimes he wondered if he could ever find another partner as wonderful as Victor. His experience with Sebastian certainly didn't paint a rosy picture when it came to another chance for romance. But maybe his kids were right. Life was about taking chances, and if he didn't take this one, he may regret it.

Sherlock affectionately squeezed his daughter's hand. "You're right Sophie. Not everyone is a Sebastian Wilkes. Let's sign up for this silly site and see what happens.

*****

_A few days later_

"Dad! I'm here with some groceries! I went to Tesco and got some things to make chicken parm!" Rosie called from the cozy living room of John's home. She brought the bags into the kitchen and set them on the table. She looked towards the double doors that led to the backyard, where she spotted her dad walking around the yard, wearing earbuds. She chuckled at the sight and went outside. John gazed up, saw his daughter, smiled and waved. He took his earbuds out and walked towards her. "Hi honey. I wasn't expecting you today, thought you had to work."

Rosie shook her head. "I was on call, but my boss called me and said I wasn't needed so I have the unexpected evening off. So I decided to surprise you. I brought us ingredients to make chicken parm."

John beamed at her. "Your mom's favorite dinner. She really knew how to cook."

"Good thing I inherited her skills, or you'd be living off takeaway," Rosie teased.

"I'm sure Jasmine appreciates having a girlfriend that can cook. Did she have to work?"

Rosie nodded. "She agreed to take on a double shift - one of the X-ray techs at A&E had to leave suddenly, her kid got hit in the nose during rugby practice, so Jas is covering her hours. She'll be home before seven-thirty. She's got leftover blackened salmon waiting for her."

"Poor kid. I remember those days of rugby. It's a tough game," John sympathized." 

"Have you checked Your Turn yet?" Rosie asked excitedly.

"Ahh, the real reason you came over. You just wanted to see if anyone's contacted me," John said with a wink.

"Well, that's part of the reason. I do want chicken parm," Rosie replied with a laugh.

"Let's go into the kitchen and I'll fire up the tablet." 

Rosie followed her father inside and while she started assembling the groceries, John retrieved his tablet from the countertop and turned it on, sitting down. After a few moments, he was online and signing into his Your Turn account. His profile loaded, featuring a nice picture taken of him at Regent's Park by the pond. He was wearing a navy blue hoodie with Dartmoor printed across the middle, jeans, and navy blue loafers with no socks. Underneath his picture was his name, his age (sixty), that he was a retired trauma surgeon living in London, enjoying riding his bike, spending time with his daughter, listening to the Beatles, blues, and classic R&B, and working in his garden. He was looking for a man or woman in their late fifties or early sixties, preferably local, who also enjoyed music and outdoor activities. 

There were several responses to his profile. John and Rosie clicked through each one. None of them really appealed to John, and Rosie wasn't thrilled with the potential prospects either. "Just give it time," she said.

"Honestly, I'm not in any hurry, but I need someone a bit more exciting. I may be old but I'm not ready for the grave," John joked.

"Not by a long shot." Rosie got up. "I'm going to get started on dinner. You still have some of that tomato sauce we canned this winter?"

John nodded. "I have a jar in my fridge, used some for spaghetti last week." 

"Great." Rosie went to get the sauce and John turned off his tablet. "Anything I can do?"

"Want to prepare the breading for the chicken?"

"Sure."

The two worked preparing dinner, making easy, casual conversation. Meanwhile, someone new was looking at John's profile...

*****

Sherlock studied John Watson's picture and profile with intense interest. The asinine survey he had to complete while signing up nearly had him throw his laptop out the window in frustration thanks to tons of mundane questions about likes and dislikes. And some of his answers (studying dead bodies, solving murders, beekeeping as his top main hobbies) weren't getting him a lot of hits or possible matches, but the site did give him the link to John's profile as possible match. He was a former trauma surgeon, graduating from St. Bart's and doing his residency there, so he probably wouldn't flinch or bat an eye when it came to death and dismemberment. He liked music, though not the kind Sherlock did, although if he had to listen to popular music, The Beatles weren't as bad as other groups. John liked to ride his bike, Sherlock kept fit with his beekeeping, his walks in town, and weekly boxing classes at Sussex University where his twins attended. 

It also helped that John was extremely physically attractive, with a healthy head of silver hair, deep blue eyes, a wide nose that on anyone else would look silly and out of place, but on John it was perfect. He was a little on the shorter side for Sherlock's liking but he could see definite muscle under that blue hoodie, and those jeans hugged the man in all the right places, especially below the waist. Sherlock could tell John was well hung. 

He was shocked no one had scooped up this beautiful little man yet. Before he knew it, Sherlock was sending an "interested" button to John, silently hoping the retired surgeon would reply. 

Sherlock put his laptop to sleep, and headed for the loo. He was meeting Theo and Sophie for dinner at a local restaurant and wanted a hot shower before heading out, the pleasant image of John Watson never leaving his mind.

*****

John was in his living room, listening to Miles Davis on his tablet, looking at the picture of Sherlock Holmes on the Your Turn site. There was no doubt Sherlock (a very unusual and unique name, John thought) was a gorgeous man. His hair was curly, mostly dark, with some silver strands running through. He had the most fascinating eyes John ever seen. They were almost feline in their shape, and they were icy blue. Definitely bedroom eyes, John thought, seductive and alluring. 

Sherlock had just a hint of a smile on his lips, which were full and lovely. He wore a dark purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up. John was captivated by his toned arms and his long, creamy neck dotted with freckles. Not to mention, the shirt was a little tight so the buttons were straining. John imagined them popping open one by one.

Sherlock said on his profile he went to weekly boxing classes. No wonder he was in such good shape. And John was intrigued by his declaration of the being "the world's only consulting detective and beekeeper." 

Sherlock sounded like such a cool guy. Why would he be interested in John of all people, a short, silver-haired run-of-the-mill retiree? It made no sense to him. Unless he thought John's medical knowledge and skills meant he wouldn't find Sherlock's interests in cadavers and murders freaky. John wasn't one to be squeamish, and he loved watching true crime documentaries and Midsomer Murders. 

John decided to message Sherlock back saying he was also interested, and even gave him his phone number to see if Sherlock would call him back. He wanted to see how far things could go. It was exciting, and John knew he needed some of that back in his life.

*****

_The next afternoon_

**John? This is Sherlock. - SH**

\---

**John, are you there? - SH**

\---

Sorry, I just came back in from tending my garden and I left my phone inside. Wow, I can't believe you messaged me. This is a pleasant surprise.

**You didn't think I would respond? - SH**

Actually no. 

**Why not? - SH**

Well, to be quite honest, you're an extremely handsome man Sherlock and from your profile, you've led an interesting life. I didn't think you would really be seeking someone as ordinary as me.

**I hardly think a former trauma surgeon would be anything but ordinary John. - SH**

Thank you. That's very kind of you to say. 

**You're welcome. - SH**

**Hey, why do you sign your initials after each text? Not being snarky, just curious.**

It's just something I always do while texting. I can stop if you like.

**No, don't stop on my account. I like it. It looks elegant.**

Then I won't. - SH

Haha, cheeky bugger. I like that too.

 ---

Sherlock smiled, his face turning an adorable shade of pink. He quickly texted a response.

**I'm glad you like it. - SH**

Sherlock, I know this may be coming on quick and you can say no, but would you like to meet? You pick the place and time. But only if you want to.

**Yes John, I would like that very much. Are you free this weekend? - SH**

Saturday, I'm spending the day with my daughter and her girlfriend, but I'm free Sunday, if you are.

**Yes, Sunday is great. Are you able to come to Sussex? I'd like to show you my hives, and you can try some of my honey. - SH**

I can catch a morning train.

**Wonderful. Text me when you're close to the station and I'll meet you there. - SH**

Will do. I look forward to meeting you in person Sherlock.

**Me too. See you Sunday - SH**

\---

John was grinning from ear to ear. He couldn't believe that Sherlock had not only texted him, but agreed to meeting each other in person. He just hoped it would go well. Even if nothing romantic came from it, maybe they could be good friends. John went back inside his house to call Rosie and give her the good news.

****

_Sunday_

Sherlock saw the text from John that he'd be pulling into the station in fifteen minutes. He was nervous, but he was sure things would turn out fine. 

Sophie and Theo were busy preparing an early lunch for their father and John. The twins were anxious to meet John in person, and hoped he'd like the meal they were making, which consisted of a mushroom, spinach, and Gruyere quiche, fresh sorbet from pear trees in their backyard, and scones with Sherlock's homemade honey. Sophie had also made iced tea and lemonade.

"I'm leaving to pick up John, I'll be back soon!" Sherlock called to the twins. 

The siblings exchanged nervous glances. "Well, this is make or break time," Theo said.

Sophie nodded. "I hope this goes well. I don't want Daddy to be disappointed all over again."

*****

Sherlock was a bundle of nerves as he saw the train coming to a halt. Any minute now John would emerge, and their date would begin. He wrung his hands and pursed his lips.

A minute later, he saw John descend the steps, head turning in both directions obviously looking for Sherlock. The detective's heart fluttered. John wore khaki trousers, a brown leather bomber jacket, and was carrying a brown rucksack. His dark blue eyes were covered by aviator sunglasses. He looked like a dapper pilot.

Sherlock walked briskly towards him. "John, over here!" he called out.

John heard his name and saw Sherlock coming towards him. He broke out into a huge grin upon seeing the taller man. He waved happily at him. 

Sherlock instantly began to feel better and he smiled. "Hello John."

John took off his sunglasses, eyes wide. "Wow Sherlock, your voice. It's simply delicious."

Sherlock couldn't help but preen. He'd gotten tons of compliments and positive reactions at his deep baritone. Victor had once described it as a rippling pool of posh, delectable, expensive dark chocolate. "Thank you John. You look uh, well, just amazing. Your picture doesn't do you justice."

John turned away to blush. "That's sweet. You look amazing in person too."

"Come on, let's go back to my house. My kids have prepared a really special meal for us. They've been up all morning cooking."

"Sounds great Sherlock. I can't wait to meet them."

The two men walked towards the station lot where Sherlock's car, an older model black SUV sat. They got in, John holding his rucksack on his lap. "What a beautiful day," he said.

"Yes. Spring in Sussex is very beautiful. I love living here. I thought I'd never leave London, but it just got to be too much for me," Sherlock replied.

John could hear something sad and mournful in those last words but he wasn't going to ask. He figured Sherlock would tell him in his own time. He just didn't think it would be right now.

"The last relationship I had---I found out he was stealing money from me and my children. He never wanted me, just money. We caught him before he really did severe financial damage," Sherlock revealed.

John let out a low whistle. "Wow, I'm so sorry."

Sherlock chuckled. "Don't be. He's in a French jail. He was wanted for check fraud."

"Well that's something at least." John fell silent for a moment. If Sherlock was being open about his past relationships, he felt he should too. So John told him about Mary, their marriage, her death that devastated he and Rosie, and him just meandering in and out of the dating scene for the past ten years. "It's hard," he said softly. Once you lose the love of your life, you feel that's it, you'll never find anyone just as special."

Sherlock then proceeded to tell him about Victor, how they met in uni but didn't fall in love and get together until after graduation, his family life, and how it took a long time to heal after losing him in the car crash. "It's funny that we both lost a spouse so young, and that it took a long time for both of us to move on from it. It's not something that should really bind us together, yet here we are," Sherlock remarked.

John couldn't help but put his hand over Sherlock's. Sherlock looked at him and smiled softly. 

The drive to Sherlock's house was full of lovely, enticing countryside. John could see why Sherlock moved here permanently. It was definitely tranquil. 

Sherlock talked about how much his beekeeping kept him busy and kept his mind fresh and active. John couldn't wait to taste the honey from the hives. He was sure it would be much better than the stuff in the jars he bought at Tesco.

Sherlock pulled into the driveway. John took in all the scenery, from the two-story white cottage with stucco roof, the wisteria tree planted in the corner of the front yard, the iron fencing, and floral landscapes that rivaled John's garden back home. "This is beautiful Sherlock. I can see why you want to be here."

John got, stretched his arms and legs, and took a deep breath, fragrant smells of flowers and sunshine pleasantly filling up his nostrils. He instantly felt calm and relaxed. 

Sherlock meanwhile, was transfixed on the tanned strip of John's skin that revealed itself to him when the hem of his white shirt rode up as he stretched. 

John grabbed his rucksack and shut the door. "It got warm pretty quickly. I probably won't need my jacket." He set his rucksack down on the ground and stripped off his jacket. Sherlock visually appreciated John's biceps through the outline of his white V-neck jumper.

"Uh, come on and follow me. Sophie and Theo should have lunch ready for us. And then I'll take you on a tour of the town," Sherlock said, regaining his composure.

John chuckled as he walked behind Sherlock, knowing full well the other man was checking him out. He was pleased as punch Sherlock found him attractive. He never thought he was good looking: too short for most women and men's liking, ears that stuck out just a little too much, especially when his hair was cut short, a very wide nose that looked like a child drawing body parts for the first time had created it, and he had folds under his eyes which sometimes gave him the appearance of being chronically exhausted. But apparently many people felt he was decent because he never had a lack of dating prospects in uni or when he entered the dating scene after Mary's death. He really couldn't complain.

Sherlock's house had a short foyer and the walls on either side displayed a painted mural of bees, honeycombs, and purple flowers. John eyed the artwork appreciatively. He was pants at painting, although he wasn't too bad at pencil sketching. 

"Sophie and Theo painted the walls. It was their birthday gift to me last year," Sherlock murmured, as if reading John's mind.

"They're very talented," John praised. 

 "My brother enrolled them in an art class in France a few summers ago. They were very quick learners," Sherlock explained.

"Rosie's going to Paris next spring with her girlfriend. She's so excited. Unfortunately we never had the funds to do a lot of traveling unless it was in the London area," John said. 

The two fell silent as Sherlock led John through the sitting room and into the airy kitchen. Nearly everything was done in bee decor - the towels, the canisters, the large rugs in front of the stove and sink, and on the walls, the same artwork of bees, honeycombs, and purple flowers.  There was a section of wall between the double oven and countertop with the words "The Sweet Life" done in black script stencil.

John saw two brown-haired young adults eyeing him with interest. "John, this is Theo and Sophie."

"Hello, it's nice to meet you. You two are very talented with all the painting you've done," John said cheerfully, holding out his hand.

The twins broke out into wide smiles. "Hello John. My sister and I are glad to finally meet you in person," Theo answered, taking John's hand and shaking it.

"Yes, and so is Daddy," Sophie said with a wink, also shaking John's hand. Sherlock looked away, blushing and smiling sheepishly.

John laughed. "Well, I'm glad to finally meet Sherlock in person too." He looked at the large kitchen table that held the food. "Wow, this is some spread. I can't wait to try all of it."

"Let's not waste any time then!" Theo happily exclaimed, motioning for everyone to sit down.

*****

"Sherlock, that was some meal. Your kids can really cook. And the honey---it was absolutely amazing," John said appreciatively, patting his full stomach as the two sat outside in the back garden, soaking up the sunshine."

"They always loved to help out in the kitchen when they were kids. It just came natural to them." Sherlock stretched out his long legs and closed his eyes, completely content. John couldn't help but stare. The man was the most graceful human being he'd ever laid eyes on. He wondered if he did any dancing during his younger days.

Suddenly Sherlock sat up, blue-green eyes gazing directly into John's dark blue ones. "John, let's go to town. We can drive, park, and then walk off some of our lunch."

John eagerly nodded. "That sounds good to me. Lead the way."

___

Sherlock had told his children he and John were going into town. The twins asked if they could pick up some bread, along with milk and cream on the way home as they wanted to make honey-flavored ice cream. Sherlock agreed, as he loved their homemade ice cream, and he wanted John to try it too.

The two got in Sherlock's car and headed towards town. Soft classical music played on the radio; John closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat with the sunshine on his face and the salty scent of the sea sending him into a relaxed state. Sherlock gazed over at him and chuckled softly. "Already feeling comfortable?"

"Mmm," John replied. "This has been a wonderful day."

"Indeed it has."

They rode in comfortable silence and Sherlock pulled his car into a parking lot of a government building. "No one will mind it's closed today anyway." John just smiled as he got out of the car and stretched his arms towards the sky.

John followed Sherlock and they strolled lazily, Sherlock pointing out certain places he liked to shop at and those he avoided. He showed him some churches (with John taking pictures to send to Rosie). John even got Sherlock to pose for a selfie that he would also send to Rosie. 

John was enjoying his time with Sherlock and he knew soon he'd have to catch the train back to London. He planned to ask him if they wanted to make another date before he left.

Their last stop was Sherlock picking up the cream for the twins and they were soon back on the road to Sherlock's house. 

\---

John happily licked his spoon clean. "That was some of the best ice cream I've ever had. Thank you Sophie and Theo. Sherlock is lucky to have two great cooks."

Sophie grinned proudly. "We're glad you liked it John. 

"We have some honey for you to take home," Theo said.

"Thank you. It's delicious, and I know Rosie will like it. She likes to cook too."

"Maybe we can all get together for dinner some time," Sophie suggested, glancing at her father.

Sherlock nodded. "I'd like that."

"I would too. Rosie makes a mean chicken parm," John added. He looked at his watch and sighed. "I hate to end this amazing day, but I'll have to leave to catch the train back home. Sophie, Theo, thank you for welcoming me into your home and making all this great food."

"Anytime John. We enjoyed your company," Sophie told him, standing to hug him.

"Will we see you again soon?" Theo asked hopefully.

John looked at Sherlock. "That's up to your dad, but I hope I do."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. You were great company. I had such a pleasant time."

Theo and Sophie gave John two jars of honey and a bag of leftover scones. He thanked them profusely, and he put them in his rucksack. He slipped his jacket on, and was out the door with Sherlock, and back on his way to London.

\---

"I'll text you after you arrive back home," Sherlock promised.

"Okay," John replied, looking at Sherlock wistfully. 

The announcement for the train to London was made, and John smiled at Sherlock. "Bye."

Before he could turn towards the track, Sherlock gently grabbed him, and before John could react or say anything, Sherlock placed a soft kiss on his lips. "I really like you John Watson."

John broke out into a huge grin. "And I really like you Sherlock Holmes."

John sweetly kissed Sherlock back. "See you soon, you gorgeous man."

Sherlock blushed prettily, and John chuckled. "I'd better get off before I have to spend the night here."

"Mmm, that doesn't sound so bad to me," Sherlock replied coyly, and winked at him.

John kissed him again and began to jog towards the track. The train slowly pulled in, and John turned around and waved at Sherlock one last time before boarding.

Sherlock watched him climb the stairs, and although they would be talking to each other soon, his heart felt heavy. He was missing him already.

The train left the station, and Sherlock gazed up into the peach colored sky. The sun was beginning to set, and a glowing white crescent moon had already made its appearance among the thin clouds. 

He took a deep breath and smiled. "Well Vic, I never thought I'd find another happiness again after you died, but after meeting John and spending the day with him, I'm happy. And I know wherever you are, you're happy for me, and for our children."

Sherlock began to walk back to his car. Seconds later, he felt a cool breeze ripple through the air, and he laughed. "I'm not one for the supernatural, but I'm sure that had to be you letting me know everything is going to be okay. Thank you love."

*****

Weeks after their initial meeting, John returned to Sussex and spent another glorious Sunday with Sherlock. This time, he helped him and the twins with their hives. Sherlock took a picture of John in a beekeeper outfit and sent it to a very amused and delighted Rosie.

A month later, Sherlock came to London to spend time with John, and Rosie made her chicken parm dinner. Sherlock judged it most excellent.

The following month, John and Sherlock took a weekend holiday to Brighton, where they became intimate with each other for the first time. It was awkward, and a bit messy, like most first times are, but they still had fun with each other. 

In the autumn, John had moved to Sussex to live with Sherlock. Rosie and Jasmine bought his little house in London, and promised to take care of the garden. John started another garden in his new home, and it was a plentiful one.

The following spring, Sherlock and John became fixtures at the Saturday farmer's market, selling honey, along with flowers, fruit, and vegetables from John's garden. Sophie and Theo sold their sorbet and ice cream and all were hugely successful.

In early summer, Sherlock and John hosted Rosie's wedding to Jasmine at their Sussex farm, and they postponed their earlier plans for France so they could  honeymoon in Paris.

That Christmas, Sherlock and John went to Paris for the holiday and Sherlock had a ball showing John, who'd never been there, all the highlights of the city.

On New Year's Eve at midnight, Sherlock got down on one knee and proposed to John, in front of the Eiffel Tower. John said yes, and the two planned a simple late spring ceremony at their farm with Sophie, Theo, Rosie, Jasmine, Molly, Greg, and Mycroft as witnesses.

And just before the next Christmas, Rosie and Jasmine surprised the husbands with John's first grandchild, a little girl they adopted named Mary Johanna Harris-Watson. 

Life was even more complete now for Sherlock and John Watson-Holmes, and it proved to be a very sweet one indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this work is now complete! I hope you enjoyed reading it!


End file.
